


i'm not crazy i'm just a little unwell

by birdsandanchors



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: AU, Alcohol, Alternate Universe - Coffee Shops & Cafés, Anal Sex, Angst, As much as bad things do, Awkward, Beards, Blowjobs, Breaking Free, Coffee, Cute, Depression, Drugs, Fluff, Gay, Good things happen, Harry breaks out of his shell, Harry eventually becomes Sarcastic too, Indie Music, Long Distance Relationships, Love, Love can stretch over seas, M/M, Parties, Rimming, Sad, Sarcastic Louis, Singer!Harry, Smut, Socially-Awkward, Tentative First Times, Touring, YoungAdults, college!louis, larry stylinson - Freeform, onedirection
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-01-16
Updated: 2015-09-05
Packaged: 2018-03-07 20:03:51
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 20
Words: 138,167
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3181394
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/birdsandanchors/pseuds/birdsandanchors
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Harry is an up-and-coming indie artist with social anxiety and more to his persona than he's letting on. He loves the coffee shop down the street, and it becomes even better when a pixie-haired, sparkling-eyed boy named Louis begins to work there.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> Hello everyone.
> 
> feedback is greatly appreciated. hope you all enjoy it!
> 
> much love xx
> 
>  
> 
> DISCLAIMER:
> 
> This is a work of FICTION. I am not in anyway affiliated with the members of One Direction, their families or their management team. The contents of this story are purely fictional, and the characters are not based off of the actual people besides their names and perhaps their looks. The events are completely made-up and I am not implying in any way that the way the characters act or what happens to them is based on their true identities and real life events. IT IS PROHIBITED TO SHARE THIS WITH ANYONE CLOSE TO THE BOYS OR ANYONE NEAR THEM/THE PEOPLE AROUND HIM. This is meant for the fandom so please let's keep fanfiction to ourselves.

 

_Thump. Thump. Thump._

Harry's heart thrums rhythmically, the dull throb echoing all the way in to his head. He gulps, his prominent Adam's apple bobbing as he swallows nervously. Every little detail seems to be amplified in his nervous state. He can feel his hands growing hotter, his hair moving about on the top of his head - he can even feel his tongue laying in his mouth, and he grunts because he has to literally let his tongue hang out of his mouth so that it feels remotely _normal_.

He wrings his sweaty hands together, clenching them together to stop them from shaking. People have been trying to ease him all day, but they've given up. He was better alone anyway. Always had been.

He sucks in a sharp breath when he watches the lights flicker on, and thinks he's about to faint as he hears hundreds of screams bounce off the black walls behind him. He can't concentrate on anything; all he sees is a blur of colour and bright light, and all he can hear is a fuzzy, distorted sound of clapping and someone speaking.

He can't do this. He knows he can't.

He snaps out of it and turns around swiftly, stepping forward and about to bolt when he hears a sentence that makes him want to vomit.

“Ladies and gentlemen, please welcome, Harry Styles.”

The crowd erupts in applause again, and there's suddenly someone in a strikingly-black uniform handing him his guitar, and he thinks; _oh shit._

He holds his guitar loosely in his hand, marveling at how surreal everything feels at this moment. He twitches, and it's silent again. The devil inside the security guard behind him pushes him forward, and he's blind.

As if they were machines, the audience claps again and Harry's too-tall, lanky figure clambers across the stage, and he settles down on the plush couch of Alan Carr.

“Good evening Harry,” Alan wiggles his eyebrows at the nineteen year old boy.

“Uhm, yeah. Hi.” Harry grins awkwardly, and feels his heart sag in relief when the audience laughs.

“So you're the new kid on the town? The shy, mysterious artist that has women swooning?”

“I wouldn't be so sure about that.” Harry speaks slowly, his deep and raspy voice holding the attention of every pair of eyes that are on him. 

“Well I'm sure tonight will change your mind! Everyone, Harry Styles is going to be performing a song off his brand new album, right here on our show! And it's an exclusive too!”

Harry chuckles shakily, smiling down at his brown boots. He focuses on the small patches of tanned skin that stick out through his ripped, black skinny jeans and takes calming, even breaths.

He looks back up at Alan, who's actually talking to him, and he becomes scared all over again because he doesn't catch the first part.

“-and that girl you've been spotted with! Oh pray tell, who is she?” Alan gasps for emphasis, and everyone _ooh_ ' _s_ , suddenly intrigued.

“T-That girl? Which one?” Harry knits his eyebrows together in confusion.

“The one on the television right behind you,” Alan deadpans, before laughing idiotically.

“ _Her_? That's my sister...” Harry trails off, shaking his head and making a face.

“And with that awkward moment we'll cut straight to Harry's performance!” Alan's voice goes high.

The studio lights shut off, and a single spotlight is focused on Harry. He stands up, shuffling slowly to the microphone that magically appeared in the centre of the stage, along with a slender stand. He brings his guitar up, closing his eyes and breathing out.

_Just like I practiced._

And just like that, the spotlight fades out, so do the whispering of the audience and he closes his eyes, a smile forming on his face. His fingers find the right strings and he pulls like it's his second nature.

“This song, is um, about life, I guess.”

The music springs to life in between his fingers, and he lets himself become lost in the familiar tune that always grounds him.

 

_I wish I could do better by you,_

_'cause that's what you deserve_

_You sacrifice so much of your life_

_In order for this to work._

_While I'm off chasing my own dreams_

_Sailing around the world_

_Please know that I'm yours to keep_

_My beautiful girl_

Harry takes a breath, and feels his body swell with emotion. The crowd is murmuring words of approval, and some sit, their jaws dropped, their ears tuned to his perfectly deep, husky voice. Whatever he's done, he knows it's working. He continues to strum, a massive smile tugging at his face, revealing his white teeth behind his salmon-pink lips. His fingers pull and strum at the strings, as if he was kneading bread.

 

 

 

_When you cry a piece of my heart dies_

_Knowing that I may have been the cause_

_If you were to leave_

_Fulfill someone else's dreams_

_I think I might totally be lost_

_You don't ask for no diamond rings no delicate string of pearls_

_That's why I wrote this song to sing_

_My beautiful girl_

The song kicks up speed, and it's Harry in his own world. He strums with such passion, such vigor, that the rest of the crowd stands up and claps along with him. He finally opens his eyes, and he sees how many people are in front of him. How many people love him.

He becomes drunk on the attention, high on the feeling of happiness, and he knows he's found his true calling. He knows he's doing this for the rest of his life.

He repeats the song lyrics, this time with the speed and tempo kicked up, and when the last high note rips from his mouth, he knows he's done it. He's flooded with relief, and proudness. He was proud of himself. For once in his life.

“Harry Styles everyone! Amazing, just amazing!”

He blinks for a moment, time stopping, before he realizes what he's just done. He takes a step back, his body faulty, and he begins to breath quickly and shallow. He suddenly becomes self-conscious. Was his voice too raspy? Did he stutter? Did he forget the lyrics?

So many questions spin through his head, and he feels dizzy. He can't remember the performance. Things begin to blur, his mind becomes foggy.

_It's happening again._

Flashbacks rip across his mind, pulling and tugging on his built-up innocence. This can't happen here, he wouldn't allow it.

No one has noticed his strange demeanor yet, they're all focused on Alan who is patting Harry on the back and congratulating him. He reminds everyone of who will be here next week, and that's it. The lights cut out, the clapping and whoops fading in to the darkness.

And Harry falls.


	2. Grey Skies and Blue Eyes

_"Sometimes, we want to give up, yet something special could always be right around the corner."_

Harry's eyes flutter open, the steady stream of sunlight brightening the room. He flinches, groaning in protest as he becomes accustomed to the morning sunshine. He sits up, clenching his eyelids open and closed, before his eyes narrow at his lap.

A blue-cotton tent is protruding from in between his legs, and he immediately begins feeling uncomfortable. This is happening often as of late; and he isn't enjoying it in the slightest. He reaches out a slender finger to press it down, but it just flounces around and bounces straight back up. He quickly looks around, scared to be caught again with an erection.

It had been a few weeks ago, when his manager has not-so-kindly walked in on Harry, his eyes set forward, the rest of his body squirming as if he could get away from it. He had screamed and fallen over in a fit of shock, landing straight on the head of his morning sunshine.

It had hurt.

Now, he quickly stumbles from his fluffy white bedsheets, walking clumsily to the bathroom and turning on the shower, the dial fully pushed in to the cold area. He mentally prepares himself, before jumping in to the icy onslaught and releasing a _very_ manly squeak. He clenches his eyelids shut as he lets the cold envelope him, and tries to keep his body from shaking. He looks down, releasing a soft sigh, and turns the sliver dial in to the red area.

After a much warmer shower, he gets dressed for the day, in a pair of fitted, ripped skinny jeans and a red plaid shirt opened over a white v-neck tee. His phone is blasting, it has been for the past twenty minutes, but he ignores it and tugs on his favourite pair of scuffed, brown boots.

He looks over himself in the mirror, pretending not to see the small dots of acne across his forehead, and ties a bandana around his mass of wet dark curls.

He huffs in annoyance and finally presses the answer button on his phone, rolling his eyes rather cheekily at his manager.

“Harry Styles! I have been calling you for over an hour-”

“Twenty minutes, actually.”

“Don't get cheeky, Harry. And anyway, you're due in two hours for an interview and photo-shoot with GQ Magazine, I still can't believe you're going to make the cover!”

It doesn't seem that amazing to Harry, he hasn't really ever been one for magazines and popularity, but his manager has been talking about it for three weeks straight, so Harry decides it must be important.

“Okay, thank you Rebecca, but I'm going to go now.” Harry quips happily, dropping the call and throwing his phone on to the mess of white duvet on his bed, ready to leave it there for the rest of the day.

 _I better take it, Rebecca will kill me if I'm late_ , he thinks to himself, and grabs it with a sigh. A few seconds later, he's out the door and on the way to his favourite, quaint coffee shop.

It's around the corner from his home, and he likes walking, because the crisp, biting air fills his lungs and wakes him up as it brushes against his reddening cheeks. Winter is slowly coming, but it's not like it's ever been thirty degrees or anything.

Harry walks past people, a thoughtful look on his face as he observes his surroundings. He knows this street like the back of his hand by now; the dark, swaying branches that reach in to the pale morning sky, dropping leaves. He watches a few leaves slowly float down to land at the bottom of their trunks, where they would ultimately shrivel up and die. Harry found this breathtakingly beautiful.

_Beauty is in the eye of the beholder._

He looks down now, watching his brown boots scuff the pavement beneath him, tucking his fingers in the pocket of his cotton-plaid shirt, trying to shrivel up, partly from the cold, and partly because he can feel people watching him, and he hates it.

He is terribly odd, he knows so himself, because he's an up-and-coming, soon-to-be-famous indie singer, with mysterious jade coloured eyes and social anxiety, with tangles of tousled hair, and a thin, gangly body that is _very_ clumsy.

Harry feels wind tear through the streets, a howl that is both loud and cold, signaling an oncoming thunderstorm. He groans in frustration, because he has so stupidly decided to walk, despite the dark, angry cumulonimbus clouds that are rolling in.

And yes, he had paid attention in Geography.

He turns around, deciding whether or not to run back and quickly grab his car, but decides against it when he hears the familiar chime of the coffee shop door.

_I'm already here, there's no point now._

He shivers slightly, but pushes open the door and is immediately enveloped in the achingly delicious smell of coffee beans and freshly-baked treats.

The coffee shop is quite bare, with only a few occupants. A young girl sits at the window, her fingers slipping through a college textbook, her other hand hastily jotting down notes. An old couple is sitting in the middle of the shop, holding hands and discussing the newspaper that is laid down in front of them.

Harry smiles a bit, biting his lip to keep from smiling too wide, and saunters towards the back left-corner booth, his favourite.

It's old and red, and smells uniquely of worn leather and a tad bit of Harry's cologne, etched in to the fabric from his daily visits. He sits down, wriggling around and grabbing the menu from the middle of the hardwood table, even though he knows what he's having. Routine is something Harry is very pedantic about.

He hears footsteps approaching him, looking up to smile at his usual waitress, Daisy, an old women with curly grey hair and shining blue eyes, but his heart stops when he sees a boy.

And not just any boy, a _beautiful_ boy.

Harry can feel his mouth slowly open, his lips parting in awe as he watches the boy, no, _man,_ stare back at him. Their eyes meet, and Harry can't find a suitable adjective to describe the colour. A Royal blue? Cobalt? Azure? He wracks his vocabulary, but he can't come up with anything other than utterly sparkly and so _blue_.

“Hi! I'm Louis,” the boy-man (Harry hasn't quite made his mind up yet) chirps, smiling down at Harry, and _wow._

Pearl-white teeth shine behind thin, salmon-pink lips that look moist and so kissable. Harry nods, his mouth still hanging partly open. “H-Harry.”

“You're the bloke that comes in every day then,” Louis’ smile doesn't leave his face, his lips reaching in to his slightly-stubbly cheeks.

“Uhm, yeah, that's me. I haven't seen you around before?” Harry voice is tight, and he winces because it sounds too loud in his head and his mind feels like mush and his heart is thrumming too fast.

“Just transferred here from a small college in Doncaster, I got a football scholarship to a university here,” Louis’ eyes shine with pride, and Harry smiles involuntarily. “This is my grandmother's coffee shop, it's now my part-time job.”

“You're Daisy's grandson? Should've known,” Harry replies nonchalantly, trying to seem the least bit like a normal human being.

“How come? Don't tell me I'm going grey already, I'm only twenty-three,” Louis releases a faux gasp, and Harry's heart stutters. _Twenty-three?_

“No no, you just both have very pretty eyes,” Harry rushes quickly, not realising that Louis is joking about being old.

He slaps a hand across his mouth, looking down at his menu because he just called Louis’ eyes _pretty._ He can hear the faint sounds of the kids at his previous high school, whispering crude words that stung his heart and brought tears to his permanently-puffed eyes.

“Why thank you, kind sir,” Louis sort've bows, taking his pen and pad of paper out from his black apron, “What'll it be?”

“Just a vanilla cappuccino with extra cream and chocolate sprinkles, they'll know if you just say Harry's usual,” his voice is low and whispering, because he doesn't particularly like it.

Louis hums and smiles at him again, telling him it'll be over shortly and Harry is sort've hoping that Louis will be his waiter from now on.

Harry watches Louis walk away, his hips slightly swaying and his tight black skinny jeans curving around his perfectly-shaped, plump _bum_.

Harry clenches his fists next to his sides, lifting his shoulders to his ears and tensing his entire body. He breathes out slowly, thankful for the relaxation techniques he'd been taught in drama. When he still went to school.

 

Sometimes he misses school, he misses learning and being exposed to new concepts and ideas, except for Maths, he _hates_  Maths.

He doesn't miss school a lot though, because he was an outcast, a nobody, a _fag_. In truth, all Harry was was bisexual, but no one had seemed to grasp that a person could like _both_ genders.

 

He's brought back to reality when a tanned, petite hand places his favourite morning coffee in front of him, a light, high-pitched but manly voice telling him to enjoy it.

It's the best cup of coffee Harry has ever had.

He sits and sips at his warm, frothy cupppucino, his eyes wandering across the quaint coffee shop, flickering across the familiar decorations. He takes in the paintings of coffee beans on the wall, the sleek, hardwood tables and chairs that give the place an old-school feeling. The walls are covered in a creamy paint, matching the light brown marble countertops at the front, holding delicate patisseries and delicious savory treats. 

His phone buzzes in his pocket, and he immediately knows he's late. He grunts, fishing the sleek thing out of his too-tight jeans, sliding to answer and bracing himself for the worst.

“Harry! Where the hell are you? I except you here in twenty minutes - thirty tops. You're going to be late!” Rebecca squeaks through the phone, her voice high and loud and thick with stress.

“I'm at the coffee shop, I'm just paying-”

“I swear to God Harry, you're always late because of that damn coffee shop! Haven't you hear of takeaways?” the phone clicks dead.

“Ouch, I could hear her screaming at you from two tables away,” a voice makes Harry jump, and he locks eyes with Louis, his brown, feather-light hair falling near his thick, dark eyelashes. “Brought you the bill, it looks like you're in a rush.”  

“You have no idea,” Harry's voice comes out soft and slow. He sighs, throwing a hundred on the table, even though his bill isn't ever higher than twenty pounds. “Shoot. I'm really late, keep all the change, you were a wonderful waiter.”

Harry cringed internally at his words, rolling his eyes and pinching himself as a text from the editor of GQ comes through.

“Bye Harry, see you tomorrow?” Louis’ voice calls out, a little hesitant, Harry notices.

“Yeah, definitely.”

 

 

˜

 

 

“Yeah, just like that Harry, hold it right there!” a photographer's voice pierces Harry's ears, and he _hates_ these photoshoot things.

It's loud, there are bright lights flashing at him from all directions, and he's developing a massive headache. He hates being around so many people, he hates being the centre of attention. He's about to get sensory overload, he can feel it slowly creeping.

“A few more shots Harry, don't worry! We're almost done. Oh yes! That's the winning shot. Okay, that's a wrap everyone,” Harry dislikes the woman completely, he hates the way she talks so fast and orders him around.

He may be very mature for a nineteen year old, but he still has his teenage instincts, and he does _not_ enjoy being told what to do.

Harry sighs with relief, dropping from his pose, his eyes bleary from staring in one place for too long. He presses the heels of his hands against his eyes, rubbing the blur away. He presses too hard and sees silvery flashes, and it hurts, but it momentarily takes him away from all the fuss.

He's escorted to his dressing room, where he changes in to his former outfit, and he's allowed to get a drink and a snack, before he's moved to another room, much smaller, much brighter, with two chairs and it all seems too intimate for him.

He sits down on the first one, and he notices a camera behind the second chair, and he cringes. He doesn't like being filmed, and he knows he's going to mess up now.

He hears a door open behind him, followed by clacking on the hardwood floor. He feels a chill, something doesn't sit well with him about this woman. She's wearing a tight, black pencil skirt and a white blouse with ruffles. She looks scary, Harry thinks to himself.

“Harry, darling, how are you?”

Harry stands politely and greets the woman, who he soon learns is named Violet, and ruffles his curls after seeing her blonde hair slicked back in a tight bun that pulls at her forehead.

“Let's get this started,” she says to a man behind the camera, and he hears and sees the countdown, and his stomach lurches and his head swirls.

“I'm here with _the_ up-and-coming Indie Pop star Harry Styles!” she announces to the camera, and he _hopes_ this isn't live. “How are you doing today?”

“I'm great thank you, and yourself?” His voice is low and his words are forming slowly, and for some reason, he's wondering if Louis will see him.

He's so busy thinking about Louis that he almost misses Violet's first question. He blinks rapidly, trying to concentrate.

“...going on tour. When is your first concert date?” she asks him, and thankfully he knows.

“Twenty-first of February,” he replies, “so only three months away.”

“You must be excited! With all the fans that have taken a liking to you, especially the girls,” Violet wiggles her eyebrows, and Harry tries to seem enthusiastic, because he knows what these interviewers do.

They use every method in the book to pry whatever secrets are inside of you, secrets especially related to sexuality.

Harry knows that he should seem straight, because that'll give him _a wider fanbase._ He just nods and chuckles nervously, as if he secretly likes the idea of female attention. He does though, he reminds himself, because he's attracted _both ways_ , not just to men.

“We've got to get to the nitty gritty things, my Harry, and ask the questions the fans want to know the answer to!”

Harry hates this, and he chuckles internally at the amount of things he _hates_ , and how they're all apart of today. Except Louis, he doesn't hate Louis.

“Shoot,” he mumbles, bracing himself internally for the questions that were about to follow.

“First question is from Cindy from Essex, and she wants to know if you're single,” Violet asks, a smirk on her lips and a suggestive hint to her words.

“Um, yes, I am,” Harry coughs, clearly uncomfortable, but Violet doesn't get it.

“How does such a charming boy like you stay single?” she tutts, tapping his knee. “Your time will come, pretty boy.”

And he hopes to whatever God that was out there, that it didn't come with this woman.

"Next question is from Lissa from Manchester, and she wants to know how you are inspired to write the music that you do?"

This is a question Harry can answer easily, but he's not sure if they have time for his long-winded version of a terrible childhood and pent-up feelings that leave him breathless and with a need to escape and let his feelings flow. 

"I've always been creative, finding different ways to relieve my pent-up emotions, and I began writing songs slowly and after I taught myself how to play the guitar, started matching up chords to lyrics and it was phenomenal for me. I guess I'm inspired by the thought of making music that's my own and reflects everything I've been through."

"That is lovely, Harry. You're such a thoughtful boy," Violet hums, looking over her sheet paper.

“Next question is from Dale from Blackpool, and he wants to know your sexual preference.”

“Straight,” Harry replies immediately, as if he's on autopilot and just doing things he was programmed to do.

“Sorry Dale! Haha, alright, next question, from Kate from right here in London, she wants to know how many people you've slept with.”

“T-That's private,” Harry splutters, feeling a little exposed and quite angry that someone would ask about his sex life. That is one of the things that was supposed to remain _his_.

“Oh come on Harry, give up a ballpark figure. More than a hundred?”

“Goodness, no!”

“More than fifty.”

“No.” Harry replies grimly, getting throughly irritated.

“Less than fifty?”

“God, would you shove off? I'm not telling you because it's private and I don't plan to, alright?” His voice is louder now, loud enough to ring in his ears and gruff enough to send shivers through both himself and Violet.

“Well, I think that's us finished for today. Thank you for watching everyone.” Violet's voice is strained and a little scared.

Harry just gets up and saunters out of the room, his body tense with anger, and all he can think is; _I feel like a coffee right now._


	3. Accidental Coincidences on Purpose

Having social anxiety is hard for Harry, especially because he slowly but surely is becoming famous, and is constantly in the news and on gossip sites. He sees things about what he wore and how his hair looked that day, and all he can think is _are they making fun of me? Do they think I'm ugly? Do I look fat in that shirt?_

Harry knows he's not fat, with his gangly limbs and slim torso that seems to go on forever, but some shirts flail out in the wind or just don't complement him, and it makes him _feel_ a little chubby.

He also hates talking to people. He feels claustrophobic and really quite scared when he's with company and has to have conversations with them. His mind grows tired of the constant worry in his head, whispers reminding him of his slow, thick voice. He wonders if his conversation topics are relevant, and then he gives up and feels like he should just be alone forever.

It's a few more days before Harry sees Louis again, and he can't help it when he walks in to the coffee shop each day, his demeanor visibly sagging because Louis isn't there. He still enjoys his coffee as per usual, and his joking with Daisy who serves him in Louis’ place, but he wishes it was Louis.

Harry sees Louis the next morning, his eyes crinkling in the most adorable way when he laughs at his grandmother. He can't stop the flutters in his stomach or the consistent pounding in his chest. Louis turns around, as if in slow motion, his soft, sandy-brown fringe flailing with the motion, and his eyes rest on Harry.

“Hey Harold,” Louis greets, pulling a funny face and patting his shoulder.

_Oh my god, he touched me. Louis touched me. His hands are so soft._

“How're you? Good?” Harry manages to muster up, his eyes flickering towards the floor, trying to hide the red tinge his cheeks now hold.

“Alright,” Louis shrugs, “the usual?”

“Yeah, thanks.”

He turns away from Louis, accidentally brushing shoulders with him, and Harry almost faints. He's never felt like this before, never had shaky hands and labored breath, all because of a boy. He sits down in his usual spot, pulling out his phone and scrolling through Twitter as he waits for his coffee.

It seems a little later than usual, but Louis comes with his coffee, his hands shaking and rattling the cup on the saucer. Harry immediately catches the cup, his fingers ghosting Louis’ as he steadies the cup. He tries not to think about it.

Harry finds it odd that Louis, the other day, put his cup down with such confidence and ease, the thing dead-still in its saucer. It's stupid the way Harry notices small things, he knows, but he can't help it.

“I'm so s-sorry,” Louis stutters, a small sniff emanating from his petite body.

Harry looks up, slightly alarmed because Louis is _crying_. His eyes are puffing and red-rimmed and blotches are coming up across his face. He quickly clasps a hand around Louis’ forearm, running his thumb over his tanned, slightly-hairy skin.

“Are you alright?”

Louis sort've looks down at Harry's hand, enclosed around his forearm, before he catches Harry's eye, and Harry can't look away, because it would be...rude. Louis softly nods, saying that yes, he was alright, but Harry doesn't buy it. It isn't because Louis is beautiful, with his soft, plump lips and dazzling cobalt eyes that stuck out even more against the red cracks in the whites of his eyes.

“You're not alright Lou... _is_. Come sit. You need to breathe for a few seconds.” Harry finishes his sentence, patting the leather next to him.

Louis just smiles a forced, thin-lipped smile that comes out as more of a grimace, but he doesn't decline and settles down next to Harry, a little closer than Harry would've deemed alright for his health.

He can feel warmth radiating off of Louis, and he wants to wrap his arms around him because he can hear him sniffling and hiccuping because he's trying not to cry. Louis curls in to himself, wrapping his arms around himself and shaking.

“Louis? Do you want to, um, talk about it?” Harry asks nervously, scratching behind his neck like those people in the movies when something's happening and the other person feels really awkward.

Although, Harry always feels awkward.

“No, I don't,” Louis snaps softly, and Harry can't help but compare him to a sad, angry bunny. His stomach sinks and he murmurs incoherent apologies.

Louis looks at him with soft, regretful eyes and sighs slightly, looking down, his eyes fixated on the hardwood table. he catches his lip in between his teeth, his lips trembling, but he gulps back the tears and returns his gaze back to Harry's.

“I'm sorry Harry, yeah, I actually would like to talk about it. You seem like a good listener.”

Harry knows he'd be the best listener ever if he got to listen to Louis’ voice all the time.

“It's my mother, she's all the way back in Doncaster and she's really, um, sick,” Louis gasps for breath, and Harry ignores every warning bell in his head and wraps a _friendly_ arm around Louis’ shoulder, and Louis sinks back in to him and lays a crying head on Harry's bony shoulder, but it doesn't seem to bother him as he sobs quietly. Harry can't help but think how Louis fits so perfectly in to his arm.

Louis seems to shake his head and murmurs to himself, snapping out of his miserable state.

“I'd prefer n-not to talk about the rest, it's kind of personal. You s-seem like a great guy, Harold, but I don't think I'm comfortable sharing my l-life story with a stranger,” Louis laughs half-heartedly, wiping his eyes and pulling out of Harry's grasp, and all he wants to say is _come back._

“Happy to help either way, I hope your mother gets better soon,” Harry finds himself smiling, a real, _Harry_ smile.

“You have nice dimples,” Louis sniffs, smiling through his tears. He sticks a finger out and pokes the grooves in Harry's face, and Harry laughs.

The small, flat screen television in the coffee shop suddenly flickers on.

Harry knits his eyebrows together in confusion; Daisy never turns the thing on. His heart stops when she runs out of the kitchen, coming straight for him and yelling: “Harry's on the telly!”

Louis turns to look at Harry, his eyebrow cocking, before turning his attention to the television screen.

Harry's senses thrum and his body shakes because as soon as the interview comes on, he knows exactly which one it is and he's ready to bolt, but he can't. He's rooted to the spot and he watches helplessly as he zones out of the conversation in the interview, and he remembers thinking of Louis at that point, and you can see how he quickly snaps back to reality and answers the question.

He can see small dots of acne that the makeup artist obviously hadn't covered up properly, and he wants to yell because Louis is right there and watching it. Thankfully, his skin has cleared in the past few days that Louis wasn't working, and it's smooth as porcelain at the moment.

His stomach twists and he looks down when he yells at the interviewer about his sex life, and he can see Louis, looking everywhere but Harry, and seeming very awkward.

“Harry...”

“Sorry, I-I have to go. I thought they would cut that bit out, I just-”

Harry throws money on the table, he doesn't check to see how much it is, and storms out of the coffee shop, tears pricking his eyes. He tries to shake off the sound of Louis’ voice when he'd thrown open the door, calling his name and telling him to come back.

Most people would've laughed it off, rolled their eyes and called the magazine interviewer a pig, but not Harry. Harry is too focused on the words he'd said, the way his secrets were slowly being revealed, and the way he snapped when he was asked a too-personal question.

He's also upset because Louis has found out that he's going to be a celebrity, and Louis might treat him differently because of it. Harry had wanted to keep it a secret as long as possible, because he didn't like how people he used to know suddenly wanted things from him and expected things because they'd “been nice to him.”

_Yeah, like hell they had been._

He walks through the street, tucking his fingers in to the pockets of his warm, fuzzy jacket, and he curls in to himself as he walks, deciding that he's just going to stay in bed for the rest of his day and watch stupid romantic movies.

The grey clouds overhead bring the promise of rain, and the first pitter-patter starts once Harry is tucked in his warm bedsheets, his head resting on stacks of pillows, just because he simply likes to sleep on several pillows.

He keeps the curtains open, and as he waits for his movie to turn on, he watches the raindrops slither down his window, and he picks two out and watches them race until the second one wins, and then he sighs and watches his movie.

Two hours and several tissue boxes later, Harry finishes _P.S I Love You_ and wonders why there are no movies made about gay couples. He could imagine himself, a young, innocent boy falling in love with a handsome man, with a six pack and dark hair, and maybe blue eyes. Or maybe, the crystal-clear, clean-pool colour of Louis’ eyes. He wouldn't mind waking up to this every morning.

 _Maybe this is why they called you a faggot_ , Harry thinks harshly. _Because you can only imagine yourself with men._

He groans and rolls over in his bed, gagging when he rolls in to a pile of his snotty tissues, pulling them off his bare back.

He decides to ignore the thought, because that's something that comes up a lot with him, but he knows he's bisexual because he really finds some girls pretty. Sort've.

His stomach grumbles and he groans as he gets out of bed and heads towards his kitchen. He doesn't feel like cooking, but he feels like stir-fry, and he knows that he only eats stir-fry when he makes it himself.

He pulls open the fridge, peeling his eyes, but all he can see is a brown carton of eggs, some salad ingredients and a bottle of milk and soy sauce. He's been out the past few days, at events and doing promotional appearances and such, so he just ate there.

He slams the door and drags himself to his bedroom, pulling on grey sweatpants and and a plain-black hoodie, ruffling his curls and brushing them back in a sort-of quiff. He slips on his black converse and grabs his keys, heading for his car.

The sky outside is a dark grey, water droplets raining down harshly on the pavement outside. Lighting strikes come down to kiss the earth, and the clap of thunder that follows makes Harry jump and squeak. The wind is howling, blowing off the remaining leaves that cling to the almost-bare trees. Harry's excited because it's almost Christmas, almost December, and Harry loves the white snow that blankets the roads and pavements, a white, angel-like glow that never ceases to make him smile. But for now, he's stuck with cold, wet thunderstorms.

He runs out of his door, hopping in to his car and shaking the wetness from his hair, resembling a damp puppy. He laughs at the comparison, sticking his tongue out at himself in the mirror. He knows that if someone could see him now, they'd run for the hills.

Harry decides he's better off alone, anyway.

He drives through the onslaught of rain, watching the lightning flash around him, and jerking every time the thunder is loud enough to penetrate his car. He hates the window-wipers, though. He can see perfectly fine in the rain, but his car has automatic wipers that come on every time it feels so much as a drop on the windscreen.

You can imagine the mess made when birds crap on his windshield.

He finally pulls in to the parking lot of his grocery store, reaching in to the back and and grabbing a black beanie and pulling it over his curls, letting a few pop out and curl around his face. He picks the right time and dashes through the sliding glass doors and in to the store.

Cold air is blasted upon his shivering body as he walks in, and he digs his fingers in to his hoodie pocket, clenching his arms beside him, as if to keep the warmth in.

He goes down various isles, finding all the ingredients he needs and throwing them in to a plastic basket that seems to be slowly giving up. He's walking with his head down, because he knows _everyone_ probably saw the interview, and there are several teenage girls in the store right now.

He walks down one last isle, grabbing face wash because he's planning to keep his skin as clear as it is right now, and the makeup artist that did such a terrible job at covering up his pimples recommended it, yet he stills wonders if he should trust her or not.

On his way down the isle, the bottom of the basket completely gives up, and all his groceries go sprawling across the floor, bags of vegetables scattering everywhere. He swears under his breath, dropping to his knees and scrambling to pick everything up before he causes a scene. That's the last thing he wants.

“Harry?” he hears a soft and silky voice call from behind him, and he knows that voice so well already.

“Louis,” he mumbles, keeping his head down as he gathers his groceries.

Harry had planned to stand in the mirror and practise what he was going to say to Louis, so that he could be mentally prepared for the conversation after the interview. That apparently was not going to happen.

“Here, let me run and grab another basket for you,” Louis says, and he can hear the squeak of Louis’ shoes against the tiles on the floor, and he quickly returns and bends down next to Harry.

“God, I'm such a stuff-up,” Harry whispers, placing his food in the newly-brought basket.

“Hey, of course you're not. They need to invest in new baskets, seriously. Can barely put a bag of lettuce in here without the whole thing caving,” Louis tries to joke, but Harry doesn't laugh, or even smile.

He isn't talking about the basket only, he's talking about the interview and the fact that he can't do anything right; but Louis doesn't need to know that. Not at all.

“Planning on cooking up a stir-fry tonight?” Louis changes the subject as they stand up, and Harry is forced to look in to his eyes and make proper conversation.

“Yeah, I decided that I should,” Harry replies simply, and he wonders if his sentence didn't make sense, or if it was hard to reply to, or-

“Do you want to join me?” Harry blurts, shutting up his thoughts.

Louis looks a bit taken aback, his crystal-blue eyes sparkling, but he smiles a beautiful, wide smile that makes the skin near his eyes crinkle, and he nods enthusiastically as he walks with Harry to pay.

Louis is carrying his own basket, and Harry doesn't want to be nosy and pry but he can't _not_ look in Louis’ basket. He has a few necessities, like toilet paper and deodorant, a six-pack of beer, he explains, for his roommate at Uni. Harry smiles and comments that he doesn't like beer, and Louis crinkles his nose and agrees.

They go to separate tills to pay, and as Harry's pulling out notes from his wallet, he notices Louis quickly throw a pack of condoms in the midst of his other groceries, and his heart stops. Of course he has a girlfriend, Harry thinks sadly, of course he's not gay.

Harry ignores the hopeful voice in his head that murmurs _"_ _Gay people use condoms too, you know."_ Harry just shrugs it off because he's grown accustomed to wanting things, only to have them pulled out of his reach. he's tired of listening to the hopeful voice in his head because things always seem to come crashing down on him anyway. 

He pays and waits for Louis to finish, but he seems to be taking forever. He saunters over to him, his plastic packet dangling between his fingers, and Louis is rummaging in his pockets and pulling at his hair.

“Hey, hey, what's up?” Harry asks, his voice concerned.

“I'm ten pounds short,” Louis growls, seemingly angry at himself. "My roommate, um... He borrowed some money this morning."

Harry immediately reaches in to his wallet while Louis is still searching and gives the woman a tenner. She smiles at him, throwing it in the till and giving Louis the slip. He looks between the piece of paper and the cashier, confused, before his eyes widen in realization.

“Oh no Harry, no you shouldn't have done that, that's not okay! You already gave me such a massive tip the other day, and now you're also paying for my groceries and I can't let that happen,” Louis rants, and Harry presses a firm hand to his shoulder, snapping him out of it.

“Really Lou, it's alright. I'm happy to help out. I always give large tips,” he lies, “and you're a good waiter. You can pay me back, it's only temporary.”

“Thank you Harry, it really means a lot,” Louis says sincerely, patting him on the back. “I promise I'll pay you back, mate.”

They both walk out of the store together, and Harry notes thankfully that the rain has subsided to a drizzle, and he can get to his car without getting soaked. He's packing his groceries in the boot of his car and giving Louis his address for dinner, when two teenage girls squeak and run up to him.

“Harry! Oh my god, it really is you!” the blonde one squeals, and Harry winces because she's too loud.

“Hi girls,” he smiles, his heart hammering because he's not sure how to do this type of thing.

“Could my friend and I get a picture with you? Oh please, oh please?” she asks him, and he nods.

He takes photos with both the girls, ignoring their loud voices and overall excited-ness.

“Excuse me? Yeah, you, could we maybe have a photo with both of you?” the other girl, a brunette, asks shyly, and Harry knows it's because he's good looking.

Louis smiles and agrees, although he looks really confused, and tucks his phone away and gets up from the pole he's leaning on, and poses with this funny face where he smiles and points at Harry, as if he's also a rabid fangirl.

“Thank you! Do you think you could follow us on twitter, Harry?”

“Of course girls, I've got to go, but it was lovely meeting you two,” Harry says, and he mentally high-fives himself because he finally said something right.

Louis blinks for a while, a bit drunk on the attention, and coughs. “I'll see you later, then Harry?”

“Yeah, see you at around eight?”

“Yeah,” Louis smiles, “eight.”

 

~

 

Harry runs around the house, picking up any rubbish he can find and sweeping the floor clean of dust. He has his food cooking in the kitchen, and he takes the extra time after cleaning up to shower and get dressed. He decides in the shower that he's not going to dress fancy, probably just casual.

He lets the hot water pellet over his back, and he knows there are red splotches on his pale, porcelain skin, but he doesn't mind. The hot water sort've calms him and gives him the time to focus, mainly on things to talk about.

He gets out of the shower, shaking his mop of curls out and wrapping a white towel comfortably around his waist. He looks in the mirror, before cringing and deciding that he'll look again once his hair is dried and he's covered up with clothes.

He pulls on a pair of black skinny jeans, similar to the ones he wore to the Alan Carr show, and pulls on a simple black tee. He turns up the heat in the house so it's much warmer than outside, and so that he doesn't have to put on a jersey. His hair has slowly dried and he decides that he's not going to put shoes on, because it's his house and he needs to look casual. And besides, his boots are reserved for grander evenings.

He runs his fingers through his hair, brushing it back and actually raking a brush through it. He slicks it back so he has a curly mane, and breathes slowly.

He hears the gate buzzer, and his heart jolts and he's suddenly clambering through the house, slipping on the hardwood floor in his plain white socks. He slams in to the wall, but hardly feels it when he answers the intercom, and Louis’ sweet voice comes through.

He lets Louis in and leaves the door unlocked, retreating to the kitchen and mixing up his stir-fry. The kitchen is filled with a sweet, Asian smell, and Harry moans when he pulls out a noodle slicked with his special sauce and drops it in to his mouth.

“You can't start without me,” he hears a voice behind him, and he puts the wooden spoon to the side, turning to face Louis.

He's dressed quite casually, with a pair of black skinny jeans and a black tank top with thick sleeves that just touch the end of his shoulders. He's wearing the Vans he was wearing earlier at the store, and Harry loves how they squeak against his tiles. 

Louis’ hair is styled to the side now, framing his tanned face and prominent jawline, his blue eyes shining bright. Harry smirks at him, picking up the spoon again and offering Louis a small bite.

“This is amazing,” Louis gushes, and Harry can't help but watch the way he licks his lips clear of the sauce, tugging on the bottom lip slightly with his almost-perfect teeth, before nodding and trying to pinch some more behind Harry.

“Thank you. You can't eat it before it's ready though,” he teases, turning Louis towards the mini fridge he has just for drinks. “Pick whatever you want, I also have a liquor cabinet in the dining room.”

“Harry Styles! I sure hope that's only for your super-sexy, older girlfriend,” Louis wiggles his eyebrows, turning away from him and walking in to the dining room. “You're only nineteen.”

“Nope, just me,” he calls back, blushing a bit, “and as long as the cops don't bust me, I'm allowed to have a few drinks here and there.”

Harry lets the food bubble and cook, following Louis’ footsteps in to the dining room. He's picking through Harry's bottles of whiskey and rum, and that's really only there for when his dad comes to visit, which isn't very frequent.

“Ooh, Harry, can you make cocktails?” Louis pulls a silver shaker from behind the bar, inspecting it closely.

“Yeah, I can. Took a course, actually. I wanted to be a bartender part-time, while I was trying to find a singing gig,” Harry explains, plucking the shaker from Louis’ fingers. “What'll it be?”

“A mojito, I guess, it's manlier than anything else,” Louis chuckles, watching Harry as he preps Louis’ drink.   

“You've got a big house,” Louis comments once they're seated and eating.

Harry shrugs, it isn't _that_ big, or amazing, but it is better than what he had back in Cheshire, though.

It's a two-storey house, with all the essentials, like a kitchen, dining room, laundry room, a pool, and two spare bedrooms. The pool is quite small, but Harry rarely uses it. His manager says that when his career picks up and he starts earning fat pay cheques, she knows just the house that he can have.

“What does yours look like?” Harry mumbles through his drink, a simple vodka and tonic.

“Like any other college dorm,” Louis laughs, and Harry loves the sound of it. “Two bedrooms, small kitchen, _one bathroom_ , a roommate that brings home different road-kill every night, but it's better than nothing.”

“How come you don't get a small apartment here in town?” Harry asks, meeting Louis’ eyes. “You could so come live next door.”

Harry mentally face-palms himself. _Stupid, stupid, stupid._

“That would be fun,” Louis comments, “but I haven't the money.”

Harry wants to ask so many questions, but he doesn't want to seem like he's prying. He wants to know what it was like where he grew up, and why he doesn't have money when he's on scholarship and working, but he stops himself.

He's eating, sucking a noodle in to his mouth, but it flicks the other way and gets sauce all over Louis’ nose.

“Harold, you know it's rude to suck your noodles, didn't your mother ever teach you any manners?” Louis teases, passing Harry a napkin to wipe the excess sauce from his face.

Harry thanks him kindly, his cheeks burning hot, but he can't help the laughs that bubble from inside of him, and soon, Louis is laughing along with him.

Harry watches Louis through the slits of his crinkles eyes, watching how his body seems to curl in to itself when he laughs, and he loves the way he throws his head back when he laughs, or when his lips curl back to reveal his teeth, a crooked one here and there, but they're pearly-white and quite cute, Harry decides.

Harry doesn't know how he's going to live like this — pretending to be Louis’ friend for the rest of his life, when really, all he wants to do is wrap Louis up in his arms and kiss his hairline and pay for a house next to his and help his sick mum and —

“Hey, earth to Styles?” Louis snaps his fingers cheekily in front of his face, still grinning, and Harry stares at his cheekbones now. “It was a lovely meal, and I'm expecting dessert.”

“Well aren't you lucky that I actually prepared dessert for you?” Harry fires back playfully, rolling his eyes at Louis and moving to grab his plate.

“No no, I'll take it. Come on,” Louis pulls the plate out of Harry's reach, sashaying towards the kitchen before Harry can get another word out.

He feels so tall, walking behind Louis, because Louis comes up to just above his shoulder, but his bubbly, cheeky personality makes up for it. Harry loves how petite he is, and he suddenly wishes that he could tell Louis. He clamps his lips shut and places the dirty plates in the sink, cringing at the loud clanks they make as they clatter against the metal of the sink.

“How does a singer cringe at noise?” Louis wonders aloud, and Harry swivels around, his eyes narrowed in confusion.

“I mean, whenever you hear something to loud, you sort've cringe and hiss, and I don't blame you, I was just wondering,” Louis tries to keep his cool, but his voice cracks a few times, barely noticeable, but Harry notices. He always does.  

“I sing indie songs, so they're usually slow, but if they're upbeat, it won't be because of something loud like electric guitar or drums, probably an upbeat acoustic guitar. I did a song to an electric violin once,” Harry comments, smiling at the memory. “It was great.”

“Do you play? Guitar, I mean. Or does someone do it for you?” Louis asks, pouring himself some vodka, promising not to get _too drunk._

“No, I do it myself. Haven't you seen me play before?” Harry smirks a little, trying to seem flirty.

“I didn't want to admit it...but I stalk you, every day of every hour,” Louis deadpans, and Harry only realizes that he's joking when he shoves him playfully as he's grabbing their desert.

Harry brings out two ceramic bowls filled with a smooth, custard like substance. He grabs his _special sugar_ from the cabinet and dusts it over the top.

He grabs his blowtorch and slowly torches the sugar until it becomes a hard top over the creamy Crème Brûlée, presenting the gorgeous little desert to Louis who looks slightly in awe and a little bit dreamy, and he murmurs, “Crème Brûlée, my favourite.”

They take their deserts outside on to his patio, where the rain has stopped and the air is crisp and biting, but the boys don't mind. Harry watches as Louis puts his feet up on another garden chair, his teaspoon digging excitedly in to his desert.

“I hope you like it,” Harry smiles, cracking his own sugar top. “It's my favourite recipe for it.”

Louis brings the teaspoon to his lips, his tongue darting out to grab the metal and bring it in to his mouth. His eyes roll back and he pretends to faint, releasing tiny moans from inside his small body. Harry can't help but listen, and assign those sounds to _something else_.

“This is heavenly, and I want you to cook for me every day out of the good of your heart, so I don't have to survive on protein shakes to stay healthy,” Louis plays around, tapping Harry's shoulder.  

“You'll have to cough it up,” Harry winks, hoping it looked cool.

“I can pay you in back massages and tickets to watch me play footie,” Louis wiggles his eyebrows, taking a swig of the bottle of vodka that the two were now sharing.

Harry grabs the bottle, taking a swig, trying to clear his mind of the dirty thoughts that cloud his senses. He can see Louis, his body perched atop Harry's, his fingers digging in deep, Harry moaning-

“I'm so gross,” Harry mutters, soft enough for Louis not to hear him.

The boys lapse in to comfortable silence, turning to watch the night sky that's clear for once, but Harry knows that clouds will come over during the night, and it will be even colder tomorrow. Harry watches as the stars flicker, and marvels at the wonders of nature.

“Don't you love the stars?” Louis sighs contently, his arms wound around his body to keep himself warm.

“It's my favourite thing to do; watch them.” Harry smiles because Louis likes something that he does.

Louis turns to face Harry, a lazy grin on his face, and he makes a funny face where his eyes squint inwards, and the vodka inside Harry makes him laugh. Really loud. He grabs the bottle and takes another small swig, feeling a little tipsy.

“Let play a game,” Louis suggests, grabbing the bottle from Harry's fingertips. “A really, really fun game.”

Harry agrees and watches Louis in fascination. He watches the way his lips move and curve when he talks, and the way his cheekbones hollow and his eyebrows raise and drop. They're going to play a game where each of them says a statement, and if it's true or if it's happened to them, they drink. Harry quickly fetches another bottle of vodka, so both of them have one, and they curl up on Harry's couch in front of his crackling fireplace, blankets enveloping them both.

“I know you're a bit quiet and a bit _keep-it-to-myself_ , so you don't have to answer if you don't want to, okay?” Louis tells Harry, and his heart warms and his hands shake because Louis’ voice is soft and caring.

“Alright. I guess you should go first, so I know what kind of questions to ask,” Harry says, clutching the bottle in his hand, his eyes sort of becoming fuzzy, but he shakes it off.

“Okay, drink if you've ever woken up in someone else's bed,” Louis winks cheekily, and takes a drink along with Harry.

Harry loves how you're not allowed to ask for the backstory to the question, he loves how he can become even more mysterious. Maybe they should play this game in an interview, he thinks, because imagine the kind of interest people would have in him. Although it would be good for marketing, Harry doesn't want his secrets to be exposed, no matter how vaguely.

“Um, alright, drink if you've ever made out with a girl,” Harry tried lamely, but both of them drink nonetheless, and Louis doesn't seem to be phased by his stupid question.

“Drink if you've ever had sex,” Louis winks, taking a sip. Harry doesn't take one.

“You're a virgin?” Louis asks, seemingly flabbergasted. Harry's cheeks burn and he looks down, mumbling a _yeah_ and refusing to meet Louis’ eyes.

It feels like his chest is being crushed, knowing that Louis isn't a virgin. Harry shouldn't care; he knows a lot of people aren't virgins, but Harry wishes he would be Louis’ first.

 _Hold it right there_ , he thinks to himself sternly, _Louis is obviously straight. He doesn't like you, get that in to your head._

“It's okay, Haz, I totally admire that. It's lovely. It was a drunken mistake,” Louis sighs, sounding like he...almost regrets it.

Harry coughs and shakes his head, meeting Louis’ accepting gaze and he feels a hand on his knee, and he gasps as Louis’ finger traces over his kneecap.

“Oh, I'm sorry,” Louis says, moving his hands away. “You probably don't like being touched, do you?”

Harry thinks that Louis thinks that he's mentally disabled or something. In normal circumstances, he hates it when people touch him, besides the people he knows and cares about, but he wants Louis’ hand back on his knee, and so he asks just for that.

“It's okay, I trust you,” Harry smiles thinly, the alcohol talking, and Louis’ brain was obviously not thinking things through, because he drags his chair closer and he runs his hand over Harry's thigh, tapping and resting on his knee.

“You're so different,” Louis comments, his eyes squinting as if he's thinking really hard. “It's nice. It's like you're a little fluffy bunny and you're happy but you're also small and fragile.”

Harry can't describe himself better, and he loves how Louis has only known him for a short while, but he knows these things. He smiles at Louis and thanks him.

“For what?” 

“For noticing.”

Harry's words hang in the air, stirring both their minds, Louis’ hand still slowly rubbing Harry's knee. It seems as if Louis has this compelling feeling to take care of Harry and make sure he's okay. Or maybe Louis is just an affectionate drunk.

“It's a pleasure,” Louis mumbles, yawning. He's getting tired. “I have one more thing to drink to.”

“Mhm,” Harry hums, his eyes closed and his head leant back.

“Drink if you've ever kissed a man,” Louis' voice comes out soft, airy and tired, and Harry's eyes open immediately and bulge out at him.

Louis' eyes remain close, as if he's trying not to judge Harry, and Harry can't drink. He doesn't want Louis to know, he'd hate him forever.

He watches Louis, tracing the sharp edges of his face and cheekbones with his eyes, enjoying the slopes from his eyebrows to his eyelids, and the dark curl of his long eyelashes. He watches as his lips slowly part, and the air that he breathes out flaps at his fringe. Harry probably should notice, but for once, fails to, the hard pumping of Louis’ chest due to his heart thrumming, a thrumming that is too fast for him to be asleep.

And then, Louis drinks. 


	4. Sad Song

Harry wakes up; and he's not sure why. His body feels warm and sweaty from falling asleep in his skinny jeans instead of his usual bedroom attire. He rolls over on the couch, releasing a manly yelp as the side of his body collides with the floor, and he groans. He rubs his body, sitting up but wincing because of the throb in his head. He breathes in tiredly, blinking and running his tongue along his teeth. He can feel the thick, excess saliva in his mouth and can taste the metallic taste of morning breath and groans because he hadn't brushed his teeth.

It takes him a while to realize what had happened the night before, but it clicks after he sees the second crumpled blanket on the couch, the two vodka bottles half-full on the floor, and a small sheet of white paper laying next to the ash of the fire that burned the night before.

He scrambles over to it, ignoring his pounding head, and can't help himself as he admires Louis’ hand writing.

 

 _Hey Harry, thanks for the lovely night and food! Had to dash off to Uni, see you at the coffee shop sometime? Sorry for overstaying my welcome, next time I definitely_ promise _not to get too drunk!_

_P.S thanks for the cuddle!_

Harry's heart is thumping and his head is even dizzier because _Louis slept over_ and _Harry cuddled with Louis,_ and the fact that Louis saw a “next time” with Harry makes it even more unbelievable. He doesn't know wether he should shoot himself in the foot for being so stupid, or wether he should hit himself in the head until he remembers what Louis feels like in his arms.

He feels his face flush and he bites his lip to hide the wide smile that's trying to break out across his face. Louis slept over. And they cuddled. And Harry can't be any more elated.

He also remembers the last thing Louis did before he fell asleep, he remembers him drinking to their silly game, and to his question of ever kissing a man.

Harry is confused, he doesn't know what to think. He wonders if maybe he should talk to Louis about it, or if it was a drunken mistake.

But then again, the rational voice in Harry's mind reminds him that people experiment all the time. Louis could be as straight as a plank of wood, but he could have gotten drunk one night and just tried it out.

Harry hates how he's feeling, confused, alone and quite sick. He doesn't want to get ready for the day. He has quite a few interviews and performances on talk shows lined up for today and tomorrow. He sighs, deciding to force himself to throw up to make himself feel better.

Once he's brushed his teeth and thrown up as much as he can without needing to stay in bed the whole day, he grabs his keys and his phone, before heading out the door.

His body is attacked with cold as he steps out his door, and he watches as his breath creates mist in the bitter air. His face, he knows, is pallid with red splotches, but he tries to ignore looking in the rear view mirror as he pulls out of his driveway.

He watches with wonderment and awe as a thick blanket of snow coats the hazy streets, giving the town a winter-wonderland feel. He absolutely loves winter and Christmas, and all he wants to do is go home and put up his Christmas tree, although he's a month early. The trees are stripped bare of their leaves, their spiny branches looking like openings in the pale sky. It all looks like something out of a photograph, a vintage postcard that people find at quaint hipster stores.

He parks outside the coffee shop, and he knows Louis isn't there, because he's at Uni. He lets himself relax a bit, and goes to the counter to order his coffee to go. He's sad that he doesn't have time to sit and relax, properly relax now that Louis isn't working and he doesn't have to be on guard anymore.

They give him his steamy cup, handing him the lid and a spoon separately because the whipped cream is sprawled tall on top. He thanks the man, someone he hasn't seen before, and turns out the door, hearing the familiar ring of the bell on top of the door.

He sits in his car, his bum perched in the comfortable leather, and scoops the cream with his spoon, licking the residue from his lips happily. He's basking in the moment so much that he almost miss his phone ringing.

“Yes Rebecca, I'm on my way I promise-”

A laugh comes from the end of the phone, and it's not Rebecca, because he's never heard her laugh and although it's a light laugh, he knows exactly who it belongs to.

“It's Louis,” the voice sounds from the end of the phone, and he doesn't know how or why Louis has his number, but he certainly not complaining.

“Lou, hi,” Harry breathes, unable to fathom a sentence longer that your average greeting.

His head is spinning and his body is thrumming with excitement, and he's so, so happy right now.

“Hey Harry! I just wanted to personally thank you for last night, I don't think a note quite sufficed,” Louis’ voice trills through the speaker, sounding joyous and oh-so lovely.

“It's a pleasure, really. It's nice to have some company once in a while. You're welcome back anytime,” Harry replies, mentally patting himself on the back because his voice didn't waver and he didn't stutter.

“I'll have to take up that offer when I run out of cold pizza,” Louis jokes, and Harry lets out a gruff laugh, because he wants to sound manly and because his real laugh is really treacherous.

“I can supply hot pizza, because really I do get lazy to cook,” Harry says, trying to draw out the conversation because he doesn't want Louis to go.

“That does sound nice,” Louis comments, and just then, a loud bell screeches behind him, and he sighs. “That's my cue, I have Psychology next, _yay_. Talk to you later, Haz?”

“Of course, Lou. Have fun, bye,” and Harry voice does crack because, _Haz_.

“Bye.”

The phone clicks off, and Harry can't move it from his ear. He can hear Louis’ voice ringing, saying _Haz_ over and over again. He loves the nickname, god does he love it.

It's only then that he realizes he's late for a meeting with Rebecca, and he turns on the car, squeezing the lid on to his coffee and driving down to Rebecca's office.

He drives past a homeless man, and his gut wrenches because he hates seeing people in distress. He quickly turns around, driving up next to him and giving him fifty pounds, and telling him to spend it wisely, on food and necessities, not drugs.

“I may be sad, but those things ruin you completely,” the man's gruff voice sounded rough and scratchy, and Harry hated how sad he sounded.

“Have a good day,” Harry smiles and continues driving.

He pulls up to a modernized building, painted a pure-white colour with floor-to-ceiling windows on the outside of the offices. It's a grand building, tall enough to be a mini skyscraper, but it's wide in length, about thirty metres wide. He can see in to some of the offices while he waits at the gate, with people sitting behind desks on plush couches, typing away furiously on laptops, and he's happy his job requires him to be out in the world.

He has to sign in at the gate every time and he hates it, because he comes here every other day, but they refuse to let him in without giving them all his details, and to top it all off, he has to scan his fingerprint.

He walks through the reception, his boots clacking on the shiny tiles, and people look up from their jobs to stare at him, wether it be in disdain or interest, Harry doesn't know. He walks towards the elevator, and breathes a sigh of relief when it's empty.

Harry hates elevators, he feels claustrophobic, especially when there's other people in there. He can hear their soft conversations bouncing off the metal walls, and he starts to sweat and his breathing becomes labored.

He relishes the empty elevator, breathing in deeply and trying to focus himself on the movement of it going up, and not the small perimeter of it.

Rebecca is waiting for him in her office, and all she does when he sits down is pull her glasses down her nose, and stare at him accusingly.

“You're late,” she mutters, flicking her pen at him.

Her hair is tied in a tight, sharp bun that pulls the hair on her forehead. Harry thinks it makes her look rather old and mean, but he hasn't ever told her that.

Rebecca is in her late forties, with dyed brunette hair and small crinkles around her eyes. She's thin, very petite, but her pointed look and curved eyebrows makes her look very intimidating.

“Sorry,” Harry mumbles, looking down at his twirling fingers.

“Anyway, Harry dear boy, you've got The Tonight Show interview tomorrow night, and you're on Ellen the day after, can you believe it?” She sort've squeals, and Harry winces because he _hates_ it when she does that.

“That's great,” he smiles, “but when am I going to be practicing for tour?”

“You need to speak to the managers and organize time slots, but I guess I'll do that for you. You just need to finalize which songs you'll be singing so that they're appropriate for your sound-”

“But surely if I write my own songs then they're suitable for _my_ sound?” Harry narrows his eyes at her, because what he writes is what he's going to  sing and it's not going to work any other way.

“Of course,” she waves her hands around, dismissing him, “We want an EP out in January, just in time for your tour.”

Harry mentally stresses, because he knows what it's like recording, and it's extremely exhausting. He had recorded his album, a very stressful time for him, in which he consumed copious amounts of hot lemon juice to keep his voice in check.

 “I have two songs written,” he tells her, “I can write three more I'm sure.”

“That's the spirit Harry! Now, I have some great news for you. You've been invited to attend the British Fashion Awards!” She does that squeal thing again and Harry swears he's going to slap her.

Okay, not really. Harry would never, ever slap a woman.

But then, an idea pops in to his head.

“Am I allowed to bring a friend along? His name is Louis, and he's really great-”

“Yes Harry, that's perfectly fine,” she shakes him off again, “I have a meeting in five, do you have the schedule for today and tomorrow?”

“Tonight Show, Ellen, Fashion Awards a few days after that?”

“Exactly. Which means, you're on a plane to America in a few hours.”

“Wait, what?” Harry gasps, not really sure of what she's saying, but then it clicks. “I usually do Skype interviews when it's international.”

“Yes, but this time, you're actually going! Can you believe it? I can't. Anyway, go home, get packed, your plane leaves at six tonight.”

Harry shivers with excitement, because he's finally big enough to go traveling, big enough to the point where people away from home want to hear him. This is what he's wanted since he was a child, and he's finally getting there.

He thanks Rebecca and smiles widely, standing up on his shaky, gangly limbs and bounding out the doors. He bites his lip but he can't keep himself from smiling, because he feels like he's finally achieved something, finally someone can be proud of him.

He wants to phone Louis and tell him the good news, tell him that he's recording an album of his own songs, tell him that he's flying to America tonight to be interviewed, tell him that he's bringing him to the fashion awards, but he quickly decides against it.

He walks briskly along the outside of the building, the cold air sinking in to his skin, his face burning. He quickly gets in to his car, blasting the heat and taking a moment to breath and relish in the good news.

He pushes the euphoria back in to his mind when he decides that he needs to get home and pack for the shows. He knows when he gets home that he'll pack whatever he wants, but his stylist will change his look slightly, and Harry hates it when she does that. He loves the way he dresses, and he wishes they would let him be.

He's packed and ready by three, and he knows he has to leave when the black limousine slides up to his gate. He narrows his eyebrows and shakes his head, because this is the first time he's ever been picked up in a limousine, and he thinks that he quite likes it. A driver opens the door and grabs his bags for him, much to Harry's refusal. Harry just sighs; he really doesn't like it when people do things for him unnecessarily, but he knows it's their job.

He can actually observe his surroundings as they drive, and he watches two birds in the sky, swooping and frolicking against the pale light of the dimming sky. He can softly hear them tweeting when he opens his window, and then they're gone.

“Wait! Can we stop here so I can run in and grab a coffee?” Harry calls to the driver when he sees the outline of the coffee shop emerge.

“Of course, sir,” the driver says through a thick British accent, much thicker than anything Harry's ever heard.

“It's just Harry. If anything, I should be calling you sir, sir,” Harry smiles.

He walks through the door, marveling at the new, intricately-styled cakes that adorn the glass cake stands. He tells the cashier to compliment the baker on it, and orders his usual, and the driver a simple coffee.

He waits, not for too long, and just stares at the familiar paintings of coffee beans on the wall. He finds himself wishing Louis was there, wishing that he could see his gleaming, cerulean eyes and his cheeky, lovely smile. He tries ignores the warm pooling in his stomach, and the nervous twitch he gets when he thinks about him.

“Harry? Your coffee's are ready,” the cashier calls him, and he thanks her politely, before grabbing the hot, styrofoam cups and serviettes and dashing to the car before they burn his fingers to a crisp.

The driver thanks him a hundred times on the way to the airport, complimenting him on his courtesy and marveling at how _nice_ Harry actually is. Harry just sits in the back, a blush coating his cheeks and a good feeling thrumming through his veins.

They arrive at the airport, and Harry can hear the loud whooshes of planes taking off, and he sees the different coloured ones launching in to the sky above him. He learns as he's taking his luggage from the limousine that he's flying business class, and that's something Harry has always wanted to do. He can just imagine the comfort, the fully reclining chairs and the delicious food, as apposed to the stiff chairs of economy and the constant sound of sniffling and coughing and crying.

He thanks the driver once more, taking his bags and taking at least an hour to get through everything he needs to. Checking in is simple, because not many people fly business class to America, only snooty business men and singers like Harry Styles.

He tries to ignore the constant buzz and chatter that the airport holds, and he finds himself becoming increasingly nervous and anxious. There's just this constant, loud noise and it's assaulting his ears. He swallows against a dry throat, and his head is slowly becoming worse and worse.

He finally gets to the business class lounge, and it's quiet and lavish, with smooth classical music coming op through the speakers, and plush chairs and women serving people delicate snacks and treats. His headache is subsiding, and he can finally breathe again.

It's another hour before he can finally board, and he cringes at the idea of being in a small space for such a long amount of time. He's happy that no one sits next to him, and he has the luxurious row all to himself. He's marveling at everything he sees; plush, large seats that he reclines back in,  and he grins and chuckles, and he may look strange, but he's enjoying it.

After he's done acting like a kid in a candy shop, he braces himself as the plane jerks forward. He's only been on a plane once, and it was a two hour flight, and even then, he was scared. He clutches the armrest's next to him, his knuckles paling as he shakes and clenches his eyes closed. What happens if the plane crashes? Or if he just drops out of the sky?

The plane picks up speed, and it's racing, and so is Harry's heart. As the nose of the plane tilts upward, and he's finally off of the ground, he releases a small shriek that can't be heard over the loud, dull drone of the engines. He finally relaxes after about ten minutes, wiggling his fingers out of their stiffness.

Around the third hour of the flight, he finds himself extremely bored, and he wishes he could draw, because then he'd draw Louis. He hasn't been able to think about much other than Louis. He keeps replaying the hazy, yet still-there memory of him drinking to kissing a man. He tries not to read in to it too much, but he can't help all the possibilities that swirl in his mind.

He's frustrated, because it's like without Louis, he doesn't feel whole.

_Hold on a minute._

He scrambles for something to write on, anything, and he rummages in his overnight bag, before grabbing the napkin that he got from the coffee shop with his coffee. _Perfect._

He grabs a pen, and writes his thoughts down.

_Without you, I feel broke, like I'm half of a whole._

_Without you, I've got no hand to hold._

_Without you, I feel torn, like a sail in a storm._

Harry keeps going, adding verses and adding on to his chorus, everything inspired by Louis. He keeps his eyes in his mind, his hollow cheekbones and his hazy smile. He pays attention to the feelings he feels when he thinks about Louis, and when he touches down in America, he has a brand new song to sing.

All for Louis.

 

~

 

Louis doesn't feel this liberated anywhere else. He loves the bitter wind that whips through his hair and against his skin, he loves the rush that he gets when he sprints down the damp, green field that had been cleared of the snow hours earlier. He loves listening to the loud cheers that surround him, and he especially loves the throb in his chest and the dizzying feeling of accomplishment when he scores.

The crowd goes wild, and his teammates collapse against him, and his team sinks to the floor, all gyrating on top of Louis, celebrating because he had scored right at the last second, making the score three to them, and two to the opposing team. He looks up between the gaps in the bodies piled on tip of him, and sees the crowd, a blur of mixed colours all with their hands raised in the air, their mouths wide in smiles. _All because of him._

“This is why you're on scholarship boy!” the coach yells when he surfaces among the bodies on top of him. “Our star player!”

“Yeah Lou, you'll definitely make captain when we vote next week,” his teammate, Alex, tells him. “You're damn great.”

“Oh thank you, you can all place your roses at the foot of my shrine in the locker-room,” Louis grins cheekily, “and for an extra five pounds, you can kiss these amazingly-skilled feet.”

Louis is anything but sentimental, he's downright cocky in the best way. and his team knows this, and they know that this is Louis’ twisted way of saying thank you to everyone else. The crowd is still yelling and now they're chanting Louis’ name, and his cheeks tinge red and his stomach grows warm. He loves it when people are proud of him.

He absent-mindedly thinks that he definitely needs to invite Harry to his next game, so he can watch him play. They were becoming fast friends, and Louis really did enjoy his company. And maybe then, he'd sing for Louis.

Louis had gone home the night after he passed out drunk on Harry's couch and googled him singing. His voice was extremely gorgeous, and Louis was captivated by it. He had downloaded the video and added it to his playlist.

_That's not stalkerish, is it? Besides, he hadn't ever mentioned that he could sing before. I was just investigating._

Louis isn't sure why, but this whole relationship to Harry was a bit off from all his others. He feels this deep connection and this need to protect him, and Louis isn't sure if it's because he's just a really nice bloke, of if there's something...more.

“Hey Lou! Stop dreaming and get in the shower. You stink like shit!” Dean, one of his mates, calls as they step in to the locker room, the buzz of the game still fresh in his veins.

“You love this smell, it smells of victory,” Louis wiggles his eyebrows, stripping out of him shirt.

“It smells of man sweat, you idiot,” Dean retorts, grabbing a towel and retreating to the shower.

Louis grabs his own towel, throwing it over his sweaty shoulder and bounding towards the showers. He quickly grabs the last open one, turning it on full heat before the rest of the team can steal the deliciously hot water.

 

When Louis arrives back at Uni, he can't help himself when he sees the sparkling white snow covering the school grounds, glittering in the pale sunlight, inviting him. His childish instincts kick in, and he makes a dash for the snow, joining the other Uni students.

He runs in to the open courtyard, a square shape with a frozen fountain in the middle, surrounded on all four corners by modernized, white buildings that hold dorm rooms. The trees are stripped bare of their leaves, dark figures against the pallid sky.

“Hi Lou! Well done on your game today, you were amazing,” he hears one of his mates, Stacey, call, and he turns around to give her a massive hug.

She's short, with a curvy figure that makes her hips and thighs bulge out slightly, and sandy-brown hair that's dip dyed blonde at the ends. She has bright hazel eyes that mix with green, and even some blue at the edges. She smiles at him when they break apart, and Louis can't help but smile back. He's always thought that she's beautiful.

“Thanks for coming to watch, it means a lot,” he grins, grabbing snow off of the ground and secretly slipping it down her back.

She squeals, her body twisting and turning as she tries to get the snow out. Louis laughs at her, but yelps when she tackles him to the ground, grabbing snow and shoving it down the front of his shirt. He squeaks, the freakishly cold snow burning against his hot skin. It shakes him to the bone, and he finds himself shivering.

“Just build a snowman with me?” He mutters, standing up as he starts making what was to be the beginning of their snowman.

Stacey has been his friend since he arrived in London, and he would not have had it any other way. She's the most kind and caring person he has met, always offering him consolation and advice. She's got a boyfriend, Connor, Louis thinks. He hasn't had the time to remember unimportant people's names.

The scene before him resembles something out of a photograph. Young adults are playing about in the snow, laughing and trying to throw snowballs at each other. Couples are making snow angels and snowmen, their smiles wide and eyes sparkling with joy. It begins to sleet, and cool, lovely snowflakes drift down from the sky, settling in Louis’ fluffy hair, before melting and leaving soft, wet patches that turn darker than his normal ash-brown colour.

He wishes Harry was there with him. In the short time Louis had known Harry, he had found out small, minuscule things about him that Louis found so, so important.

He knows that Harry's eyes light up at the thought of Winter and Christmas, and that it's his favourite time of year. He knows that Harry hates large groups of people and loud noises, and hates being the centre of attention, due to the scene he caused in the coffee shop when his interview came on television.

He knows that Harry can sing beautifully, and that may or may not have been due to Louis’ hours of stalking him on the internet.

He sighs as he flops down in the cool, dense snow, beside Stacey, who is talking to another student that's towering over them, a blonde boy that's most probably Connor, but the only thing on his mind is Harry.

And he can't help but feel that this is the start of something new.

 

~ 

 

Harry is dead asleep, after hours of tossing and turning, when he hears the phone ring next to him.  He has just gotten off his deathly long, eleven hour flight, and with London being eight hours ahead of Los Angeles, it was around nine at night when he arrived in L.A.

He looks at the clock beside his bed, the red numbers blurring with sleep before adjusting to show 3:38am.

He grabs his cellphone, the bloody thing vibrating against the wooden beside table, and presses it to his ear. “Hello?”

“H-Harry?” a voice sort've stutters, sounding high-pitched and unsure.

“Louis?” his voice is deep and smooth, and he sighs because he doesn't like his morning voice, _at all,_ but he's too tired to even try clear his throat. “Why are you calling at three in the morning?”

“It's eleven in the arvie, Haz! I was wondering if maybe you wanted to accompany me tonight on an endeavor,” Louis sounds chipper.

“Oh Lou, I'm in Los Angeles right now,” Harry says, his voice sagging because his mind has just understood the reality of the situation, and he bolts upright in bed, his heart beating.

_Louis wants to invite me out._

“Oh, what're you doing there?” Harry knows he's trying to sound interested, but he can hear how he's completely deflated, and he wishes he could fly back to him, just to go out.

“I'm on Ellen tonight, and Jimmy Kimmel thereafter. I wish I could come Lou, really. It's definitely gets lonely here when I'm all alone,” Harry says, his early morning insecurities and worries flowing from his mouth. “It's always so lonely.”

“Haz, are you alright?” Louis’ voice is concerned, and Harry knows that he knows that something is wrong.

“Don't worry about it Lou, I really shouldn't talk to anyone this late, I mean, early, whatever. I just-” Harry cuts himself off when he feels the urge to cry.

He hates this. He doesn't know why he wants to cry; he's just overwhelmed all at once. He hears Louis’ gorgeous, angelic voice and he's tired and he's lonely, so lonely. He wants nothing more than to tell Louis everything, why he's how he is, why he can't form a coherent thought in front of people, how confused and enamored he is with Louis. He's sick of hiding his sexuality from the media, sick of being such an awkward weird _fag_.

“Harry, it's okay, I understand. We all get like this. I should've known you were asleep and in L.A, it's my fault. You're okay. Okay?” Louis’ words are rushed, trying to calm Harry down.

Harry's heart is kicking up, and his throat feels like it's closing and he can't feel certain parts of his body. His mouth is becoming very dry and his body is shaking uncontrollably. He releases a cry of pain and rips open the bedside drawer, slamming his fists on the bedside table when the drawer goes flying, but it's contents are just a hotel pamphlet and a pen and notepad.

He left his medicine at home.

“Harry, Harry! Are you okay? Harry, breathe, talk to me,” Louis’ voice is distant against the hard, searing attack of anxiety, but he finds himself gripping on to it, as if it's his lifeline.

He hiccups, his chest rising and falling in unusual patterns as he gasps and tears run down his face. He's usually able to handle them with his medication, but now he doesn't have it, and he knows what happens when he doesn't. He curls up in to a ball on his knees, one hand clutching the phone and pressing it tight against his ear, the other curled up beneath him.

“ _Louis_ ,” he gasps, “Lou, I c-can't breath.”

Harry's voice is tight and squeaky with the sound of tears and a closing throat. He doesn't know what to do, and it makes him panic even more.

“It's okay, Haz, a-are you having a panic attack?” Louis’ voice comes out shaky.

Harry makes a noise that he hopes sounds like a yes, because he's finding it so difficult to speak through the tightness of his throat and the overpowering thrum in his entire body.

“I want you to listen to the sound of my voice, Harry. Can you do that? I need you to focus in breathing while you listen to me. Whatever you're worried about, it's not true. People love you, Harry. People care about you. _I_ care about you. I haven't known you for very long, but you are already such a good friend of mine, do you understand that?”

Harry sucks in deep breaths like he's been told, focusing on the sound of Louis’ calm voice, and the way the words he's saying are spreading a warm feeling throughout his body. Louis cares.

_He cares about you, Harry. Something you've wanted._

“Yeah, I understand,” Harry says quietly, his words barely coming through his gasps.

“Good Harry, good boy. Now I want you to get in a position you can rest in, can you do that? I'll tell you about my day yesterday, if that's okay?” Louis’ voice holds the tinge of a smile.

Harry slowly uncurls from his little ball, reluctantly laying his shaky body straight, his head resting against the plush white pillow, his gangly limbs almost falling off the edge of the bed.

“Okay, I'm l-lying down,” he whispers, trying to keep his body from shaking, it just tires him out, though, so he lets himself shake.

“Well, I scored the winning goal for our soccer game, and it was amazing. Then I went back to the Uni, and it was snowing, Haz. I made a snowman just for you,” Louis says, his voice light and airy. “I took a photo of it for you, I'll send it to you later.”

“It was snowing? Properly?” Harry seems to relax at the mention of his favourite things.

Listening to Louis’ voice, Harry begins to calm down. All his worries slowly flush away, and he finds himself growing tired again. His body is slick with sweat, which is now making him cold in the bitter winter air that seems to be all around him.

“Properly. Next time you'll come to my match and make a snowman with me?” It's a question.

“Yeah, I'd love that.” Harry's body has calmed down, and he has the ghost of a smile on his face at the thought.

“Tell me what you see, Harry. What's outside your window,” Louis says softly, not sounding the least bit bored, but more relived.  

Harry turns his head to look out of the window. He'd purposefully left the curtains open earlier, so he could fall asleep watching the city bustle beneath him.

“I see some stars, and lots of city lights. There's lots of cars, even though it's late, Lou. It's not snowing here yet, but I wish it was. There are some people kissing under a street lamp, and I think they're a gay couple,” Harry smiles, his eyelids fluttering closed.

“Isn't that wonderful, Haz? That the world is so alive and full of love? It's a big world, but nothing to be afraid of, love,” Louis murmurs softly, and Harry's heart flutters.

“Can those be my nicknames from now on?” Harry's sleepy voice flutters, and he's unaware of the full extent of his words. If he was fully awake, he would've been slapping himself.

“Which ones?” Louis laughs a little.

“Love, and Haz. But mostly love,” Harry whispers in a small, airy voice.

“Of course Haz, I mean, love,” Louis’ voice is small, and Harry thinks that he can hear a bit of fond in there as well.

“Thank you Lou, for everything,” he breaks off to yawn, “not even my mother can calm me down from these. G’night.”

“Goodnight, Haz.”

And Harry falls back asleep.

 

~ 

 

The constant flashing lights are familiar as Harry exits the car with two bodyguards flanking him. Voices are pounding against his ears, their words threatening to break through in to his head, but he blocks them out as much as he can and walks towards Ellen's studio.

He had woken up late that morning, and his stylist told him she would fix him up at the studio.

He's wearing black skinny jeans that frame the small amount of muscle he has on his limbs, and a glossy, patterned shirt that only has three buttons done up. His stylist fixes his hair as much as she can, and the mounds of curls lay just above his shoulders, the front curving upwards in a different sort of quiff. He sits in the chair as stage makeup is put on his and his chest to make him look tanned and his skin look even. He doesn't have that many pimples today, and he's happy, because he doesn't want Louis to see him on TV if he's not looking his best.

 _Louis_.

Slowly, images of the night before have been coming back to him, and he shudders when he remembers his panic attack, and makes a mental note to grab his medication at the drug store on his way home. He remembers Louis’ kind, airy words that made him feel special and warm, but he struggles to remember what he said back.

His dressing room door creaks open, and from behind it, he sees a sprout of blonde hair and kind blue eyes, and he smiles at Ellen.

“Hi Harry! You're looking great, love the shirt,” she compliments, speaking much as she does on her talk show.

“Thank you,” he smiles, “you're looking quite lovely yourself.”

“Isn't he a charmer?” Ellen laughs to his stylist, Soraya, and she agrees and pinches Harry's cheek.

Harry rolls his eyes, thinking that he's nineteen now, and an adult, but adults can't help themselves but baby him. His mum does the same.

“Well it's time for me to get out there, but I'll see you now!” Ellen disappears through the door that she came through, and Soraya is touching up his hair before she frees him and taps him on the bum.

He feels nervous all over, his heart thumping and his hands shaking. He wrings them together, he's performing first and then getting interviewed, so he's clearing his throat and trying to breath normally. He finds himself thinking about Louis, his kind words instantly calming him.

“Please welcome, ladies and gentlemen, singing a brand new song, and by brand new I mean he wrote it yesterday and rehearsed just this morning, Harry Styles!”

He can hear the applause, and it makes his cheeks grow red and his stomach flip with excitement and nervousness.

He grabs his guitar from one of the stage men, and steps out on to the stage. It's a very homely feeling, the studio, because it's not really a big audience and they're all standing and clapping, and being very mature about it. A few girls are screaming and crying, but he smiles and waves at him.

“This song, I wrote for a very special someone who's on my mind a lot as of late...” He trails off before he can say his name, and starts his song.

 

_You and I,_

_We're like fireworks and symphonies exploding in the sky._

_With you, I'm alive_

_Like all the missing pieces of my heart, they finally collide._

The crowd shouts and claps, and Harry smiles as he strums his guitar. He listens to the sound of the band behind him, becoming lost in the music and the thought of Louis.

 

_So stop time right here in the moonlight,_

_Cause I don't ever wanna close my eyes._

_Without you, I feel broke._

_Like I'm half of a whole._

_Without you, I've got no hand to hold._

_Without you, I feel torn._

_Like a sail in a storm._

_Without you, I'm just a sad song._

_I'm just a sad song._

He sees those achingly beautiful blue eyes in his head, the perfect pink of his rounded lips, the sharpness of his teeth, especially the ones that are slightly out of place, and the hollow of his cheeks. His voice becomes louder and more passionate as he envisions all that is Louis.

_With you I fall._

_It's like I'm leaving all my past in silhouettes up on the wall._

_With you I'm a beautiful mess._

_It's like we're standing hand in hand with all our fears up on the edge._

_So stop time right here in the moonlight,_

_Cause I don't ever wanna close my eyes._

Harry can hear the claps and the screams and the cries of the audience members, and he knows so many other people can relate to his song. He feels an overwhelming surge of happiness, and he feels so proud of himself in that moment, like nothing can shake him. He's invincible.

_Without you, I feel broke._

_Like I'm half of a whole._

_Without you, I've got no hand to hold._

_Without you, I feel torn._

_Like a sail in a storm._

_Without you, I'm just a sad song._

_You're the perfect melody,_

_The only harmony_

_I wanna hear._

_You're my favorite part of me,_

_With you standing next to me,_

_I've got nothing to fear._

His voice drops from its passionate, ruggedness, to a soft, smooth melody that has every audience members eyes glued to him. He closes his eyes, once again, envisioning all that is Louis, because it calms him but makes his heart race in the most beautiful way possible. And he does maybe the worst, maybe best thing.

_Without you, I feel broke._

_Like I'm half of a whole Without you, I've got no hand to hold._

_Without you, I feel torn.Like a sail in a storm._

_Without **Lou** , I'm just a sad song._


	5. A Forest Full of Lights

To Harry, beauty is many things. Beauty is the soft trickle of music that comes from his guitar at three am, when his mind is racing and his heart is not whole. It is also the sweet nothings that are whispered in to the ears of lovers. The most beautiful thing, though, that Harry has seen is the glittering blue in Louis’ eyes, the eyes that resemble a pool of crystal clear water in the sparkling rays of sunshine.

Right now, it's not Louis that is on his mind, but the beauty outside his plane window, the orange tint that the puffy clouds hold. He watches as light is casted across the white balls of fluff, as Harry likes to think of them, and gasps when he finally sees a silver lining for the first time in his entire life.

When he was a child, his mother used to take him out on their porch in the afternoon, hold him in her arms and tell him stories as the sun set in front of them, behind the marvelous green field that was their backyard. He used to watch, while listening to the tales from his mother's sweet voice, waiting for the silver lining that he had heard so much about. He never saw it, and he wasn't sure if it was because he blinked, or because he was too caught up smiling up at his mother, and telling her corny jokes that went along with her fairy tales.

Now, his face is pressed against the window, his eyes savouring every bit of the sliver cloud in front of him. His gaze didn't waver from the sliver edge, shining bright.

_It's beautiful._

He decides that maybe, just maybe, something good will come from this.

He settles back in his seat, closing his eyes and watching the past few days play back against the dark of his eyelids. He smiles, genuinely happy, as he drifts off to sleep.

~

 When Harry gets back to the comfort of his own home, the first thing he does is sleep again. He basks in the feeling of his familiar sheets, the soft sounds of the city moving below him. He leaves the curtains open, and he falls asleep with his eyes on the twinkling lights in the sky.

He wakes up the next morning, and his heart skips a beat because he's in the same city as Louis again, and it's Thursday, which means that Louis is working. He has the perfect plan hatched, and he knows exactly how to start.

He showers, his fingers shampooing his mop of curls. He washes himself with great care, twice over, so he smells ripely of musk and sandalwood. He changes in to black skinny jeans and a simple white v-neck tee, with his signature brown boots. He decides not to wrap a bandana around his hair, and instead combs it back until it resembles a lopsided quiff. He looks at himself in the mirror, trying out a half smile, but he doesn't like the way his pink lips curve, or the way his cheeks bunch up under his eyes. He wishes he could swop eye colour with Louis, have his cobalt eyes that resemble the ocean, rather than his own, plain green ones. You cannot compare them with any thing majestic like Louis’, who Harry frequently compares to the blue of the sky or a freshly cleaned pool. The most you could compare Harry's to is probably snot.

_Gross._

He fights the smile off his face at the thought, he is still a boy at heart, and tugs on a black leather jacket that he spots in his cupboard, behind his silky shirts. He smiles at his reflection now, he's feeling a bit better about himself.

He decides to walk to the coffee shop, his mind awake and yearning for the feel of the biting air and sight of snow blanketing the ground. He clasps his hands together, grabbing leather gloves at the last minute, and he walks out of his house, turning the corner and starting the rather short walk to his steaming cup of coffee.

He tries to keep Louis out of his mind, and he finds himself becoming thoroughly irritated at the same time. He wishes he didn't feel such confusing feelings towards him. Harry knows he got quite the crush on Louis, but he's worried. He's so trusting of him, and he can't seem to shake the feeling that he can tell Louis anything, and he'll understand. He wishes that he wasn't able to feel this way about him, because he knows that it'll be tricky if they every have a relationship.

_Yeah, you might want to find out if Louis swings your way, first of all._

Instead, he tries to focus on the cold, wet layer of snow that coats the streets around him, the dark spots of the pavement protruding through gaps. He loves winter so much, he thinks, and smiles. He can't wait to put up his Christmas tree. Only another week before December, and then he can decorate his house with colourful lights and a Christmas tree so big it touches the roof of his living room.

Yes, forgetting about Louis is working.

_Damn it._

Harry sighs, but braces himself as the glass door of the coffee shows looms up ahead of him in the distance. He hears the ding of the door as he swings it open, and he immediately looks to the floor. He closes his eyes for a second, the familiar clack of his boots on the hardwood floor sounding in his ears. It's quiet in the shop, and he's happy the noise won't drive him to leave soon, because his schedule is clear for the day and he plans on making it perfect, not for him, but for Louis.

“Harry! You're back!” Louis exclaims, bounding towards him and hugging him tightly.

Harry's arms go instinctively around him, and he melts in to the friendly hug.

_Friendly, Harry. Friendly._

One of his arms is curled around his shoulder, the other around his waist, like a normal man hug. He remembers reading something about patting another person on the back if you want to seem like friends. He pats Louis on the back, and Louis rubs circles on his in return.

_Now that was not friendly._

“It's good to see you, mate,” Louis beams, pulling away from Harry and clasping his fingers together in front of him.

“You too, Lou,” Harry tries out his half-smile tentatively, and Louis seems to like it, because his eyes crinkle and he gestures nervously to Harry's booth. “The usual?”

“You know me too well,” Harry smirks, sticking his tongue out slightly between his teeth.

Harry sits down in the plush red booth, taking a few deep breaths before staring out the window and waiting for Louis to come back with his coffee.

He can't help but wonder, as he stares at two teenage boys around his age, running away from each other and slapping each other upside the head. His relationship with Louis doesn't seem like most male relationships. They don't go out to football games together, or drink beer and clap each other on the back when their team scores, or bark at each other and mess about. Instead, they eat dinner together, sit on balconies and reminisce, and drink vodka and play silly games with blushed cheeks.

“How was America?” Louis’ unique voice breaks through his thoughts as he places Harry's coffee down on the table.

“It was alright, I guess. Come sit, I have news for you, and I'm sure Daisy won't mind,” Harry gestures to the smooth strip of couch opposite him.

“Yeah, alright. You're the only person out of my tables anyway,” Louis agrees, settling down across from Harry.

Harry watches Louis for a bit, not long enough for it to be considered creepy, but quite a while. Louis flicks his hair to the side, the usual quiff now messy on his forehead. His eyes are twinkling, like always, and he clasps his slender, but short fingers together on the table in front of them. Harry can't help but glance at the bulge of muscle protruding from Louis’ arm.

“I like your hair like that,” Louis comments, cocking his head to the side and observing Harry.

“R-Really?” Harry stutters slightly, internally high-fiving himself.

“Yeah, it suits you.”

Harry gulps, and bites his lip tentatively. “So, what was it that you wanted to do when I so rudely up and left the country?”

Louis’ lips turn up in a smile, and he laughs. “It was supposed to be a surprise, and a surprise it shall remain. You free tonight?”

“Always free for you, Lou,” Harry says, his eyes widening at his words. “You know, unless I'm across the pond and such.”

Louis laughs louder this time, and flicks the back of Harry's hand. “You seem to have acquired a sense of humour in America, Haz.”

“Are you saying I didn't have one before?” Harry teases, cocking an eyebrow.

“No! No, what I meant was, that-”

“Relax, Lou. I'm just teasing you,” Harry smiles earnestly, flicking Louis back.

Louis looks at him with a peculiar look, sort've dreamy, but there was something else in the gaze. He shakes his head and looks down, a small grin plastered on his features, before he mumbles something about Harry needing to drink his coffee before it gets cold.

Harry obliges, taking small sips while conversing easily with Louis. He feels much more confident today, and he finds himself cracking jokes and subtlety flirting. Louis flirts right back, even winking once or twice, which leaves Harry's insides scrambling about in turmoil. He wonders when his confidence is going to get up and leave him a bumbling, stuttering mess, but it doesn't. Until...

“So, I'll pick you up at eight then?” Louis says to Harry as he's getting to leave.

“Are you sure? I could always drive,” Harry offers politely.

“Yeah, course. You cooked us dinner, and Crème Brûlée for gods sake! You need to do that again, by the way.”

“Alright, Lou. See you tonight?”

“See you tonight, love.”

Harry manages a quivering smile accompanied by a red face, and he pushes through the door, his heart hammering and his hands sweating. Louis just called him love. Harry swallows, but he feels dehydrated, and confused, but most of all, he's so, so happy.

He runs home, dancing in the streets while he does, and stops to even take a few pictures with fans. He doesn't usually do that, because he's afraid he'll come off shy and anti-social, and usually waves at them before bowing his head and walking off.

“You're so happy, Harry,” a little girl with wide brown eyes laughs.

“I am indeed. Life has unexpected ways of making you happy,” he replies, giving her and the girls around her massive hugs, before bidding them goodbye and returning to his home.

 

 ~

 

Harry's lying on his bed, a small smile plastered across his face. His eyes are slits, his vision dark and blurry in front of him, but he's only got one thing on his mind.

Harry doesn't know what he's feeling. He's never felt this way before, this incessant, feeling of twisting stomachs and thrumming hearts. He knows he's most vulnerable this way, and he knows he would give his heart to Louis in a heartbeat, and that scares him beyond belief.

Harry has only had one other partner, and she was a girl, and it was the worst relationship ever. Harry doesn't have much else to compare it to, but she was controlling and manipulative and made him do things he still regrets to this day.

What has Harry confused this time, though, is trying to figure out what kind of a person Louis is. He's no doubt kind and caring, but Harry doesn't know much else about him. Harry himself is vulnerable and nervous, socially awkward and easily manipulated. A little insecure, too. Harry knows that Louis is confident, and happy-go-lucky, and very observant, but what he is like underneath it all? Is he sentimental, or is he shy and secretive? Is he sensitive about some things, and is he protective?

Harry thinks for the rest of the afternoon, and he's shocked when he looks outside and sees the weak sunlight reflecting off of the sleet that's slowly falling to the ground. It's getting dark, and very quickly.

When he's done procrastinating, it's already far in to seven pm, and Harry jumps off his bed and rushes to get ready. He showers and changes in to a pair of black skinny jeans, thick socks and his worn-out brown boots. He slips on layers of shirts before his jet-black trench coat with a few gold buttons. He debates on wether or not he should throw his hair in to a bun; but quickly decides against it. He instead styles it the way Louis said he liked, and he's ready by the time there's a chime from the gate.

He grabs his house keys and locks his door, before turning around to face a sleek, black car. It's the same colour as Harry's Range Rover, but much smaller and cuter. Perfect for Louis’ size, Harry thinks.

Louis emerges from the car, his legs clad in similar black skinny jeans, with ragged rips across the knees. He's got an oversized red sweater on that falls just over his belt line. Harry though, he focuses on his hair, that's shielded in a gray beanie except for a curl of a fringe laying on his forehead.

“Hey Harry,” Louis greets him, his back leaning against the passenger door, his leg crossed over the other. “How goes it?”

Harry wants to die on the spot, because Louis is looking so amazing in that red sweater, and his hair makes his face stand out, and he's got a bit of stubble dusting his cheeks and chin, and Harry's confidence has just made a run for it.

“It's been good,” he whispers, his head down, as he makes his way to the door.

Louis’ fingers surprise him as they gently grip the top of his arms. They're warm, and seem to send warmth rattling through his bones.

“Hey, look at me,” Louis’ voice is light and airy, and comforting.

Harry looks up slowly, meeting Louis’ eyes and tucking his fingers in to his pockets.

“You were doing well today,” he says, “At the coffee shop. You spoke so well, and were so confident. Why aren't you like that now?”

Harry hates it when people call him out on not being confident enough, or being too anti-social or not being able to talk about the right things with the right people. He looks down again, sighing, and he wants to curl up in a ball and wish he was normal.

“You've got a bit of social anxiety, don't you love?” Louis’ voice isn't accusing, nor is it pitying.

Harry tries to ignore the fire in his stomach, because Louis just called him love again, but it's more manageable this time, and he nods in answer to Louis’ question.

“I don't want you to feel like you're not doing the right things with me,” Louis murmurs to him, a smile on his face. “Or that you have to impress me or anythin’, because you most definitely already have, Haz.”

“Really?” Harry's eyes sparkle in awe, because he was able to impress someone. And not just someone, but _Louis_.

“Of course! I think you're so interesting and very intellectual and I love watching you speak about things, and about things you're passionate about,” Louis nods enthusiastically, tracing the pad of his thumb across Harry's cheek.

Harry freezes, gulping, because he's never been touched so intimately, with such love and affection before. He realizes that Louis is brushing away stray tears that have fallen when the icy wind whips at his face, and he can feel the lines where the tears ran burn with the cold.

“You think I'm interesting? And you don't get mad and upset when I'm not confident enough and can't speak to people?”

“Not one bit. I think it's rather cute,” Louis giggles, and flicks Harry's nose. “C’mon now, let's go. What I'm about to show you is amazing.”

Louis turns around, letting go of Harry, and opens the door for him. Harry thanks him with a wide grin and sits down in the comfortable seats. The car is small, and his legs bend slightly and his hair grazes the roof sometimes, but he doesn't mind it one bit.

Louis enters the car on the other side, grabbing Harry's hand and squeezing it reassuringly, before releasing it so he can drive with two hands on the wheel. Louis is silent as he pulls out of Harry's driveway, and Harry is thankful for it, because he needs to think, and comprehend, and stop his damn hand from tingling.

Harry has definitely added _confidence-booster_ to Louis’ small list of traits. He loves the way Louis can talk about him and make him feel good about himself for once. He's not sure if Louis meant the hand squeeze as just a friendly, reassuring squeeze, or as something more.

Louis swerves around a corner, his tyres slipping on the wet asphalt, and he looks over at Harry with an apologetic grin, and swerves again to miss a bird.

“You are one of the worst drivers I have ever encountered,” Harry laughs with wide eyes, and grabs his seatbelt.

“Should've told you to put that on when we got in,” Louis says, his eyebrows wiggling.

“Probably,” Harry chuckles.

They've come to a strip of road with trees rushing past on either side. Louis explains that they're just outside of town. The snow is thinner here, and they drive comfortably (as comfortable as it is with Louis driving) along until Louis makes an unexpected turn down a dirt road.

“Warn a man next time?” Harry says incredulously, shaking his head.

“What? I almost missed it,” Louis shrugs sheepishly.

They travel down the rocky road, the only source of illumination being a row of candles in sandbags on each side of the makeshift path, leading up to a small clearing where several cars are parked. Louis finds an empty space, one that's also easy to get out of, and shuts the car off.

“Ready for an adventure?” His cerulean eyes sparkle in the dim light.

“As ready as I'll ever be,” Harry smiles thinly, opening his door and hopping out.

All he can see from here is darkness, and towering trees reaching up in to the night sky. The moon is barely visible through the thin snow clouds, and he feels himself shiver in the biting weather.

“Lou, I'm not really sure what I'm supposed to be looking at...” Harry trails off.

“Turn around you idiot,” Louis laughs, and when harry does, he's gobsmacked.

The trees are suddenly bright and luminous with white light, and when Harry squints he sees that there are thin tubes twined around the bark, reaching almost to the top. As far as he can see, there's just a forest of light. He thinks it's absolutely beautiful.

He can feel Louis’ eyes on him, but he's still busy enjoying the moment. His eyes are glued to the fluorescent scene in front of him, his mouth hanging slightly open as he stares.

“Come look, there's much more,” Louis grins, grabbing Harry's forearm and tugging him with him.

Harry lets himself be dragged by Louis while he looks up as they walk through the trees. He's so happy, surrounded by such simple beauty, and he can't believe Louis shares the same outlook that he does.

They come to another clearing, and this one is bustling with people, small children running and darting through the trees, and adults sitting on wooden benches. Louis leads him to a small, blue caravan, with twinkling fairy lights cast across it. A woman pops out from it, a bright smile on her face that seems to match the lights around her.

“Two tickets please,” Louis says, pulling out his wallet.

“I can pay for mine-”

“No,” Louis says quickly. “This is for paying for my groceries. I still can't believe you paid for all of them.”

“Fine,” Harry pouts, shoving his wallet back in to the pocket of his tight jeans.

The woman hands Louis two pink tickets, with black scrawls that Harry thinks must be writing. Louis takes Harry's arm again and leads him to the side of the clearing, where there are several wooden signs pointing to different paths.

“There are different paths,” Louis explains, “That you can take, with different themes and lights and stuff. Like there's the Colour path, the Snow Angel path, the Ghosts and Ghouls path...”

“So what path did you buy?” Harry inquires, trying to catch a glimpse of the tickets.

“Oh god, the lady gave us the Lovers path,” Louis laughs nervously. “I forgot that you could even choose a path. We must make a good couple, eh Harold?”

“Indeed,” Harry says quietly, and bites his lip to keep from smiling, because Louis’ words are doing awful things to his insides.

“We don't have to if you don't want to-”

“Oh no, really. I don't mind, I quite fancy the colour pink,” Harry smirks, “Unless you don't want to, I mean, I could pay for other tickets-”

“Don't be silly. Come, it'll be fun.”

Louis looks up at the pink sign pointing left, and begins to walk, and Harry follows. They seem to walk a long way, passing the different paths, and Harry sees an array of different colours, that he can only assume is the Colour path, and they pass the Snow Angel path, which has light up angels stuck to the tree, and crystal snowflakes hanging from branches.

When they reach the beginning of their trail, there's a man there to take their tickets and rip the stubs off. He looks over the two boys, and smiles slightly, before ushering them in. Harry's feeling nervous and a bit shaken up, and suddenly he's scared that someone will recognize him, and see him on a Lovers path with a _boy_.

“Louis? I don't meant to burst a bubble or anything, but, um, what if someone recognizes me? I mean, don't get me wrong, I really don't mind being on this trail with you, _really_ , but it looks a little suspicious, me being on a Lovers path with a guy. And if my management team finds out, I'll he done for.” Harry can't make it any more obvious that he _wants_ to be here with Louis, on this specific trail.

“Relax, Haz. No one will recognize you. It's quite dark on this path anyway, I assume so couples can make out in peace,” Louis says softly, and wiggles his eyebrows. “Look, you can't even tell who is a boy and who is a girl.”

And Louis is right. Harry passes numerous couples, and he could only see the outline of their faces against the lights.

They walk down the beginning of their path, and the trees are decorated with pink, red and white lights that climb up the tree. Hearts and cupids flash from the bushes below the trees, lighting their way along the path.

“It's beautiful, isn't it?” Louis says, his voice holding wonder.

“I love it,” Harry replies earnestly.

Louis stops then, and looks at him, really looks at him. Harry meets his eyes, and Louis’ skin looks so bright with the pink lights flickering off of it. He blinks and looks down, before moving a shaky hand towards Harry's. Harry sucks in a breath as he watches, his body frozen, as Louis connects their hands and twines his fingers through Harry's. Harry can tell Louis is expecting him to push him away, call him a faggot and leave him right there on the Lovers path, but he doesn't. Of course he doesn't.

It's a scary feeling for both boys, because they're both vulnerable in that moment, both open to rejection. Louis could decide he didn't want this, that it didn't feel right, and let go, and their friendship would be ruined.

Louis smiles then, a wide bright smile that makes his eyes crinkle in the most adorable way, and he releases a puff of air between them. Harry smiles back, a real, Harry smile and Louis pokes his dimple with his free hand, giggling and looking back down at their hands.

_It's happening, my god, it's happening._

Harry doesn't know what to feel. Louis has always made him feel such mixed emotions, and now that his fingers are fit snugly in between Louis’, he can't feel. He's not physically capable of processing this, and he knows it's going to hit him like a wave later on.

Louis turns around then, and Harry follows, their fingers still intertwined. He takes the opportunity to be slightly forward, and rubs circles on the bottom of Louis’ thumb, and he can see Louis smile again, and blush, the pink even brighter on his cheeks.

“I've been looking for someone to share this place with, but I hadn't found anyone who would fully appreciate it. Until you,” Louis says, as if it's the easiest thing for Harry to hear.

_Louis thinks I'm special._

“It's marvelous,” Harry says, his boots crunching in the layer of snow beneath them. “How does it all work?”

“They really only do this in Winter, because it gets darker quicker and it looks really nice with the lights reflecting off of the snow. They have a wind generator, because the solar one didn't really work out, and the wind charges it during the day so it can shine almost the entire night.”

“But there's still wind at night,” Harry says, feeling the gust of air blow on the back of his neck.

“They found that letting it run while charging blew some of the bulbs,” Louis shrugs. “Hey, but don't ask me, I heard it from a mate in Uni.”  

It's silent again, and Harry takes the moment to look up at the beautiful lights, and appreciate them. The lights coat the scene in a beautifully bright way, and it all looks very Christmassy to Harry. It feels as though he's in his own magical place, where he can be himself with Louis by his side, and be in a beautiful place that he loves, with a boy whom he has extreme affection for. He almost knocks over a flickering heart that's lining the path, and Louis laughs at him and pulls him closer. Harry looks down at him, watching him watching the lights, and lets a little laugh fall from him mouth.

“What?” Louis looks up at him with a smile on his face, his tongue between his teeth.

“You're so small,” Harry teases him, and Louis flicks him on the nose.

“I am not,” Louis sasses, getting on his toes. “I'm almost your height.”

“Give or take a head,” Harry sticks his tongue out, and Louis smiles back, and Harry knows it's because he's found a shrivel of confidence.

It's surprising, Harry thinks, how Louis is much smaller than him, yet Harry feels so much smaller than Louis in his presence. Louis is a big personality, and Harry much prefers to stay back, shriveled up as much as possible so no one notices him.  

“Come on, let's get something to eat,” Louis says when they reach the end of their path.

“Are we allowed to go again?” Harry pouts, because he's enjoying the lights.

“Yeah, just keep your half of the ticket, and I'll take you down one more time before we leave.”

Louis lets go of his hand, much to Harry's dismay, but he knows it's because Harry expressed worry earlier about being caught, and now they were back at the cleaning, filled with people. Harry follows Louis towards a few stalls that are also lit with fairy lights, and the food resemble those you find at markets. Harry buys organic coffee, and a wonderfully large cheese tart. Louis buys a coffee too, and a large baguette filled with Parma ham, mozzarella, avocado and honey mustard.

The boys take a seat at one of the empty benches, and place their food on the table that connects to the benches. They eat in silence, but try each other's food, and Harry finds himself going to buy one of Louis’ baguettes.

“I'm a growing boy,” Harry shrugs when Louis gives him a teasing look.

Harry decides that he's tasting heaven in his mouth, and moans loudly. Louis laughs, but looks a bit uncomfortable, and shifts around on his bench.

“So, Louis, what do you think about the British Fashion Awards?” Harry asks nonchalantly.    

“Really? Are you kidding me? I absolutely adore it!” Louis exclaims earnestly, and Harry cocks an eyebrow at him. “Sorry. That was a bit of my feminine side.”

“Well, yours truly has been invited, and he is allowed a plus one,” Harry smirks, taking another bite of his baguette.

“Are you saying...”

“I've decided to take you as my plus one, after much consideration.”

“Harry!” Louis squeaks, and comes around to his side of the table and squeezes him in a crushing hug. “Thank you, thank you, thank you!”

“It's my pleasure,” Harry laughs, smiling at Louis brightly.

“But don't you have someone important to take? Like, don't you have to go with Emma Watson or Taylor Swift or something?”

“Taylor Swift is American, Lou,” Harry rolls his eyes, “It was really you or my mum. And she doesn't feel like flying out.”

“I could kiss you,” Louis sighs dreamily, and Harry's heart almost ceases to work.

“Please refrain from kissing the merchandise, I'm worth a lot,” Harry pretends to brush dust off his his shoulders, smiling.

Inside, he's trying to get a single breath in that's enough to compensate for all the emotions he's feeling that seem to strip him of oxygen.

“Oh, sorry, excuse me,” Louis scoffs, giving Harry a playful look.

“Just wait, you'll have to get styled with me and that takes forever,” Harry groans.

“I'm sure I can live through it. Really, Harry, I don't know how to thank you,” Louis says honestly. “I'll do anything.”

“Anything?” Harry plays, cocking an eyebrow.

“Down boy, don't get too dirty,” Louis half-smiles, sipping at his coffee. 


	6. Red Carpets and Alleyways

Nervous is an understatement to what Harry is feeling.

Beads of sweat keep trickling down the back of his neck, the cool liquid tickling the small hairs. His stylist keeps huffing and wiping it away hastily with a tissue, but it doesn't seem to be helping.

Louis is next to him, and that makes the situation a whole lot better - or worse. He's enjoying every moment of it, from the way his hair has been styled to the way he's dressed now. Harry still is sneaking sideway glances of admiration every once and a while, but he hasn't seen Louis in over an hour, because his stylist has his head firmly faced forward, and he's not allowed to otherwise move it.

Louis is still talking though, and harry can only answer with “yeahs” and “oh really's?” because he's too anxious to even try and strike up conversation.

Their chairs are so close, and Harry is covered with a black thing that weighs down on him, and he doesn't like it at all. It's there because they're trimming his hair, he only agreed because they said it wasn't a lot, and it would still almost touch his shoulders.

Harry is breathing fast now, sort've silently hyperventilating because he has to go out on to a red carpet filled with people and cameras and everything he hates about his job. It's worse because about three hours ago, they told him he was presenting an award. He had almost passed out on the spot.

He jerks slightly because he feels the cool pressure of Louis' fingers intertwining with his underneath the heavy black thing, and the stylist whacks him on the head with a tiny plastic comb, muttering something about chopping all of his hair off if he moves again. Harry shudders at the thought.

Louis is rubbing circles on his shaky hand, and they soothe Harry to an extent. He's chatting amicably with his stylist, who's touching up his hair so that his fringe is messy over his forehead, but has a curl to the end of it; and Harry has fallen in love with the style. Harry can't believe that Louis can so effortlessly look good, so effortlessly converse with people while holding Harry's hand. Harry can barely get a word out to Louis when he's holding his hand.

He sighs and hopes that tonight, Louis will bring out his confident side, because he doesn't feel confident today, and wants nothing more than to shrivel up in his bedsheets and watch the stars. Maybe with Louis by his side.

“Haz? Love? You ready?” Louis' voice pulls him out of his thoughts, the images of his body wound tightly around Louis’slowly fading away.

Harry nods; feeling some pride because he's gotten used to Louis calling him love. It still makes his stomach twist and his body tingle, but he likes the sensation.

Their stylists pull them both out of their chairs, bringing them towards a full length mirror that can fit the image of them both. Harry watches his reflection, and Louis’, and can't help but agree - they make an amazing couple.

Louis is standing next to him, their hands still clasped, but out of view of the stylists. He's wearing jet black dress pants, and black dress shoes, with tiny alien socks that Harry _has_ to laugh at. He's got a silvery undershirt beneath his black blazer. The blazer has a sliver collar, matching the silky undershirt perfectly. The pure blue of Louis’ eyes stick out against the tanned skin of his face, the skin flowing smoothly without imperfection. Harry drinks in every detail of him; from his stark cheekbones to the shape of his eyebrows, and his long, dark eyelashes that frame Harry's favourite feature.

Harry's eyes flicker to his reflection, and he's in love with what he's wearing, because it's different and it speaks of him. He's wearing a black suit, with red lines running through from the collar of the blazer right to the ankles of his pants. He's not wearing a shirt underneath, and the black of his bird tattoos are slightly visible, as well as the beginning of his intricate butterfly.

“We look amazing,” Louis breathes, bringing Harry out of his staring. “I can't believe this is me.”

“You always look great,” Harry blurts out, instinctively slapping his palm across his mouth, his eyes looking sheepishly at Louis.

Louis laughs and pulls Harry's hand away from his mouth, pressing a tiny kiss to the back of his hand, before releasing it and letting it flop next to a Harrys hips.

Harry's body has become numb, and he can't seem to function, and his vision is going slightly blurry and he can feel his heartbeat all the way up in his face. He's gasping for breath, but quietly, and all he can think about is _Louis Louis Louis._

Louis chuckles slightly, obviously realising Harry's distress, and pants him on the back and turns to leave so Harry can recollect the chill he has so effortlessly lost.

Harry doesn't have time, though, because as soon as Louis leaves, his stylist is ushering him out of the door as well, and he wants to stomp his foot and say that he wasn't leaving, and that he was still basking in the moment of the gentle flutter of Louis’ lips against his skin; a feeling that he may not get again soon.

There's a sleek black limousine waiting for Louis and Harry outside the building they have just emerged from, and Harry thinks he's calmed down until he sees Louis again. His heart kicks up and he swallows loudly, choking on his spit.

_Smooth, Styles._

They both slide in to the limo, settling next to each other at the back of the lavish automobile. There's champagne cooling in a icy bucket, a mini fridge, and an assortment of alcohols that make Harry's head spin. Louis reaches for the champagne, pouring them both glasses of the golden bubbly, and Harry takes it with shaky fingers, and he's surprised he isn't spilling, even though the limousine is moving.

“Cheers, Harry. I cannot thank you enough for what you've done for me tonight,” Louis says, his bright blue eyes shimmering. “I honestly don't know why you chose me to bring with you, but I'm elated. You're a wonderful person Harry, I hope you never forget it.”

They clink glasses, and Harry's still quite shaky, but Louis puts his hand on Harry's knee, seizing it's erratic bouncing, and smiles warmly at him. Harry's entire body seems to fills with a golden light, warming him and claiming him. He loves the effect Louis has on him; the ability to calm him and bring out the confident side he didn't know he possessed until the perky boy with cobalt eyes came along.

Harry loves the way Louis compliments him, too. He loves how he never censors himself, telling Harry how great he is and how attractive he's looking. It makes his heart swell and his fond grow for Louis, but he has to push it away because he hasn't a clue about Louis’ intentions, and if he wants to have something more than the flirty, tentative relationship they have going on now.

Surely Louis wouldn't hold Harry's hand and kiss his knuckles if he didn't feel something for Harry? He knows that sometimes girls act like this with their best friends, but they're boys, and they're supposed to be manly, right?

“Penny for your thoughts?” Louis’ light voice, along with his knee-rubbing, pulls Harry from his thoughts.

 _I'm just thinking about you_. “I'm nervous about tonight.” 

“I'm right here for you, love. Right next to you if you need me. I'll stand and smile like an idiot and make you look great,” Louis smiles cheekily, biting his lip as he does so.

“I just don't like talking to people,” Harry whispers, loud enough for Louis to hear.

Louis’ eyes soften, and he clasps both his hands with Harry's, his thumbs caressing the calloused skin. Harry's looking down at their fingers, Louis’ smaller ones fitting perfectly in between the gaps of Harry's large, clumsy ones. Louis nudges Harry's chin up with his nose, trying to get him to look in to his eyes. Harry gasps quietly, looking up at Louis and wondering if he should be bold and just kiss him right here and now.

“That's perfectly okay. Don't let anyone tell you it's not. You are you, and if you don't like people, then that's fine. You're so kind and caring towards them that they shouldn't give two fucks. Okay?”

In the short time Harry has spent with Louis, and out of the many things he has learned, one thing has made him laugh but also quite uncomfortable. Louis swears like a sailor.

“Yeah, Lou. Thanks,” Harry breathes, still affected by their close proximity.

Louis pats Harry on the head, smiling that cheeky grin again and grabbing his champagne glass. Harry turns to look out the window, the sleek limousine cruising through the streets. Trees whip past in a blur of light against dark, and Harry starts seeing rather large houses, and he knows they're in the rich part of town now. It's dark outside, and he can only see the blurry outlines of things as he passes them. They stop at a traffic light, and there's a homeless man crumpled against a back building, looking miserable and dirty. Harry opens his window and gives him a hundred pounds, to which the man leaps up and begins dancing, thanking Harry several times.

Louis just gives Harry a look that is exploding with fond, and squeezes his hand tightly before his phone rings.

Harry tries not to listen in, because it's rude and frankly he was taught better than that, but he can't help it. It's not necessarily the words Louis is saying, but the way his voice pitch is higher than most males, but croaky at the same time, but it's also sometimes smooth and Harry loves the way it sounds in his ears.

“You have a lovely voice,” Harry comments boldly once he clicks the phone off.

“Really? Everyone teases me about it,” Louis’ voice is now soft and vulnerable, and he looks down as if reminiscing over bad memories.

Harry wants to comfort him, because Louis has nothing to be bothered about. He's pure perfection, Harry thinks to himself. It's sad that Louis can't see it.

“It's lovely,” Harry says again, a feeble attempt to comfort him.

Louis chuckles slightly and thanks Harry, giving him a bright smile that shows his slightly-sharp teeth and the crinkles by his eyes. Harry loves that smile.

The car suddenly stops, and Harry can see the flashes through the window, and he immediately stiffens. He can hear loud chatter that pierces his ears and makes him clench his eyelids shut. He doesn't want to be here. His mouth is dry and his heart is thrumming too fast, and he knows he can't do this. He doesn't want to do this.

“I can't do this,” he whispers, his voice cracking, “I'm not good looking enough, I'm not sociable, I'm not confident, I'm not funny, I'm nobody.”

He hears the faint beginning of Louis’ sentence before the door opens and the lights become even more blinding. He can't see anything, and the lights are leaving imprints on the back of his eyelids. He squints against them, getting out and standing on shaky legs, his knees weak. _They're going to buckle,_ he thinks to himself _, I'm going to fall in front of the most important people in Britain._

But suddenly Louis is by his side, his strong and reassuring arm wrapped around Harry's waist, the top of his fringe tickling Harry's ear as he stands on his tiptoe to whisper, “You've got this. I'm here, right here, and I believe in you.”

Harry visibly relaxes at Louis’ touch, and his knees aren't weak anymore, but his heart is still running and his throat is still dry. He tentatively drapes an arm around Louis’ waist, pulling him close to his side to feel comfortable in front of all these lights and people. Louis melts in to his side, and the boys fit together perfectly as they begin to walk.

They stop for photos at their first interval, and Harry's arm tightens around Louis’ waist when the photographers start yelling at Harry to pose like this, or say this, or do this. Harry just smiles a bright, dazzling smile that shows his dimple, and Louis doesn't hesitate to poke it like he always does.

Harry laughs, and Louis laughs with him, that sound that makes Harry go weak at the knees all over again. He can't hide it anymore, and as he stands here, gazing in to the shimmering blue of Louis’ eyes that are sparkling even more that usual, he knows he's fallen for him. And he loves it.

Harry pulls Louis away from their spot, walking down the carpet and posing a few times. Louis is quipping happily in Harry's ear, commenting on the different dresses and outfits that are on the carpet along with them. His mouth drops open when he sees so many celebrities, people that Harry learns; Louis has admired forever.

“You'll catch flies, love,” Harry laughs and cups Louis’ chin to close his mouth, and he feels proud and bold and confident because it was him calling Louis _love_ this time around. 

They stop for the first reporters that wave Harry over, and he smiles politely and kisses the woman on the cheek. She blushes and giggles and mutters something to the camera about receiving the _magical Styles kiss_.

“That's a thing?” Harry's eyebrows narrow, his eyes squinting in confusion.

“Of course, Harry! You are one of the most desirable men in the industry,” she wiggles her eyebrows, and Harry looks down to hide the red blush upon his cheeks.

“So, Harry,” she continues, gesturing to Louis, “Who is this handsome young fellow? Your boyfriend?”

“No! No, n-no,” Harry splutters, clearly embarrassed. “This is my closest friend, Louis Tomlinson.”

“Lovely to meet you,” Louis chirps, his hands clasped in front of his as he bounces.

“Same to you! You boys are obviously very close, the way you hold each other and touch and talk. How long have you known each other?”

Harry looks at Louis, his eyebrows raised, and Louis pretends to look confused as he contemplates. Eventually he shrugs and says, “About two weeks or so.”

The woman looks outraged, and frankly quite confused. Harry just laughs and flicks Louis’ cheek, and Louis looks at him with an eyebrow raised. “Do you mind?”

“Oh not at all. In fact, I think I'll do it again.”

“Oh no you don't, Styles.”

“You gonna stop me, Tomlinson?”

“Aren't you two adorable!” The interviewer squeals and knocks them out of their banter. “What are you two stunning men wearing?”

Louis cuts in before Harry can answer. “There was this lovely man on the side of the road, and told me that if I sell him my soul he'll give me this suit in return-”

“Excuse him, he's being facetious. While dear Louis here is dressed in Armani, I'm dressed in Gucci. At least I think,” he laughs nervously, and the interviewer slaps him on the arm, laughing along.

“Have a great night, Louis and Harry!” She calls, and they're whisked away to another interview.

All in all, it's an amazing night. Once they're seated, Harry watches in awe as all these famous people walk up and accept their awards and make jokes that Harry never thought he'd hear in person. Louis is as astounded next to him, and keeps his fingers bound to Harry's knee throughout the entire night, making sure no one can see.

Harry delivers his award without stuttering, which is an accomplishment of note to him. All he does is look at Louis as he presents it, smiling and giggling when Louis makes funny faces. His heart stops when he sees Emma Watson for the first time in person, and gives her a polite kiss on the cheek and hug, his insides quivering because yeah, he _loves_ Perks of Being a Wallflower.

He sits back down next to Louis to watch the end of the show, and Louis holds his hand and whispers gingerly how amazing he was, his lips brushing against Harry's sensitive skin, and Harry wants to melt in to a puddle because he can't take all these mixed signals.

The show ends, and Louis drags Harry to the after party. Well, not really drags. Louis has to puppy-dog-eye Harry once, and he's given in because it's Louis with the pixie hair and bright eyes and he wants nothing more than to please him.

The walk together, their shoulders brushing, as they follow the thrum of voices and people through the street and in to a building that looks bland on the outside, but the inside is anything but.

The room is decorated in elaborate gold and silver, with golden drapes hanging down the windows, blocking the faint street lights from entering. The tablecloths on the various tables are golden and silver, with shiny glitter patterns that swirl. There are booths and a massive bar and a place to dance, and Harry hasn't seen anything like it before. There are mountains of food and crystal chandeliers hang low, but the only illumination comes from the club lights near the dance floor. The rest of the room is completely dark.

“Isn't this amazing?” Louis gushes, rushing to the bar to fetch himself and Harry a drink.

Harry doesn't have time to answer, so he grabs a booth and sits down gingerly, already feeling out of place because everyone is getting drunk and having fun and Harry can't even mutter a sentence to anyone that he idolizes. Louis returns with a wild look in his eyes and a massive smile cracked in to his face.

“I just met Jessie J and Cheryl Cole at the bar, and they spoke to me. Me Harry! I think I'm going to have a heart attack,” Louis runs his mouth, sipping at his cocktail.

Harry thanks Louis and sips his own, and it's strong and clouds his senses but he doesn't mind. He knows it's going to be a long night. Louis slides down next to him, wrapping an arm around his torso.

“Come on Harry, lighten up a bit,” he says gingerly, sipping his drink, “We're at a party. Have fun with me.”

Louis pouts, and Harry just wants to take that bottom lip in between his, but he knows he shouldn't because Louis will think he's being weird and their entire relationship will burn like a forest fire. Harry eventually gives in and smiles, but it's tepid and Louis notices but doesn't mention it. He downs his drink and so does Harry, and then they're both lost in each other, talking and laughing and Harry's feeling warm and fuzzy, and he's not sure if it's because of Louis or because of the four cocktails he's had.

Currently, he's laughing at Louis, who is draped over him, his bum in Harry's lap and his short but muscular legs cast across the booth next to them. His arms are wound behind Harry's neck, his fingers pulling and tugging lightly at his hair. Next to them, Cara and a few other models are also laughing at Louis’ joke, and Harry doesn't know why he can't be happy like this all the time. Cara has been Harry's friend for a while, a lovely dose of craziness in his life that keeps him on his toes. Him and Cara are discussing their next outing when suddenly, Louis jumps off his lap and sits next to a raven-haired model who winks slyly at him, and Harry resists his drunken urge to pull Louis back and snarl at the model.

Louis puts his arm around her, and she giggles drunkenly and leans in to whisper something in his ear. He bites his lip to hide his smile, and whispers something back to her. Harry gasps when Louis bites her earlobe, and she slaps his chest playfully, but Harry hears everything, and he hears her moan slightly.

Louis nuzzles his face in to her neck, and kisses it quickly, trailing his lips down to her collarbones. She grabs his face and threads her fingers through his hair, and everyone is clapping and letting out guffaws of approval, but Harry is stuck, frozen.

 _This is sick_ , Harry thinks to himself, his body quickly deflating, _he doesn't want you._

He gets up abruptly, spilling a drink on the table, but he mutters a small _fuck it_ before he tears himself away from the booth and out the back alley.

The air outside is freezing, and he wraps his arms around himself, holding back the stinging threat of tears. Black street lamps cast a low, dull glow across the barren streets. He leans against the moist brick wall of the alley, his chest heaving and his body shaking. He didn't think rejection would sting this bad, mainly because he has never put himself out there, until now. He knows now it was a shot in the dark, that Louis was just being overly-friendly, and that he wants something much more than Louis can give him. It hurts so much because he wants _only_ Louis to give it to him. He's never felt like this before, this constant flutter whenever he has the smallest reminder of Louis, this bone-quaking feeling that leaves him breathless.

His chest feels tight and so does his throat, and it's closing up with unshed tears. Everything hurts and he hates himself so much for even thinking that he was good enough for Louis.

He whimpers and slides to the ground, his bum landing harshly on the wet pavement, and Harry's glad it's not snowing tonight. His face is pinched in pain, but also because he's trying not to shed tears. He's breaking down, and he can't stop it this time.

Hot tears roll down his cold face, and it burns but Harry doesn't care; he welcomes the pain. His pants are slowly getting soaked through, chilling his entire body. His shakes are now partly from the cold, and partly from the anxiety that's ripping through his body. He knows he shouldn't have had all those cocktails, and now he's drunk and falling apart.

He looks up through blurry eyes and sees the moon. It's a full moon, stark against the black of the night, and Harry releases a sob, burying his face in his sleeve as he weeps. He wants Louis, and he's pretty sure he's falling hard for him, but it hurts so much.

He remembers a quote he's read in a book somewhere, and he can't agree with it more.

_To love is to destroy; and to be the one loved is to be destroyed._

He's destroyed himself by feeling this way for Louis and he weeps again because he's just admitted it. He's fallen for Louis. Two weeks and he's completely enamored with the blue-eyed boy. He hates himself for it.

“He doesn't like you back,” Harry rips at himself harshly. “He thinks you're too weird for him. That's all you've fucking been your entire life. Weird, a fucking fag. I hate myself!”

Harry screams in to the dead of the night, but there's no one there to answer him. He's alone in this assault of pain, and he doesn't know how to get himself out of it. He's crying too much, and his breathing is erratic and all he wants to do is go home and cry and forget that he ever met Louis Tomlinson.

“Harry!” he hears the familiar voice that makes him release another deathly sob. “Harry, where are you?”

He keeps quiet and folds in on himself, the way he used to do when he didn't want his mother to find him, and she never did. Except then, he had hid in the bathroom cabinet underneath the sink, and his mother knew he'd come out eventually.

Now, he's out in the open, curled up like the coward he is against a rotting wall, shivering and hyperventilating. He doesn't want Louis to find him. He doesn't want to speak to Louis. He doesn't want to remember Louis.

But alas, as small as he can make himself, it isn't enough. He hears Louis’ shoes crunch on the scatters of glass on the pavement, and Louis bends down to touch Harry's arm. Harry flinches, shifting away from Louis and cowering.

“I-I don't want to talk to you,” he gasps. “Please, get away from me.” 

“Harry, what-”

“E-Everything you've said and d-done, it's a fucking lie. I-I don't want you near me,” Harry cries, his sobbing muffled by his sleeve.

“Harry, I-I haven't done anything to make you think that my intentions are different from yours,” Louis murmurs, his voice sounding strained, and...hurt?

Harry yelps when Louis tries to wrap himself around him, and Harry looks up in to cool, blue eyes that have frosted over, and they're brimming with hurt and pain. Louis lets go of him immediately, backing away and standing against the opposite wall. Harry wants to tell him to come back, to hold him tight until he forgets everything that's happened. But he can't. He can't hurt himself again.

“Harry, you're having an anxiety attack, _please_ let me help you,” Louis looks physically torn and distraught, his face contorted in pain. “Please, this is hurting me too. I want to comfort you. I want to touch you.”

“That's a lie!” Harry roars, standing up, fueled by his anger and his pain. “I brought you with me because you understand me, and you understand that I need constant attention to feel loved. You understand that! But you go off and fucking kiss these other women, and you make me feel so confused because I don't know what your intentions are, and you say and do things that make me feel special, but you obviously don't mean them in the way I want you to mean them, because you're not like that. You're not like me.”

“What are you like, Harry?” Louis’ voice is calm and collected, and it's scaring Harry.

“You're not a faggot like me. You like women,” Harry spits, his voice not wavering.

Louis looks taken aback. He staggers towards Harry, trying to grasp him in his hold. Harry backs up against the wall, flinging himself against the harsh brick, his head knocking loudly against it. He gasps in pain, and feels it spread throughout his head, throbbing intensely. Suddenly, nothing seems as painful as his head. His eyes struggle to remain open, but he's not done yet.

“You've held my hand and touched my knee, and then you go and kiss that model. Go on, go fuck her in the bathroom or something,” Harry growls, but he's slurring his words and his steps are faltering.

“Harry please, don't do this, I need to tell you-”

“This isn't fair,” Harry suddenly whispers, going pallid. “Everyone else gets what they want, but me. No one wants me.”

“Harry, listen, it's not true, I w-”

Louis is cut off by Harry going slack, his eyes fluttering closed as he slumps to the ground. Louis catches his limp body just before it slaps the pavement. His skin is pale white, his rosy lips slightly apart. His beautiful curls are pasted to the back of his neck with sweat, his hands flapping around beside him. Harry isn't sure if his last thought is said aloud, or in his head.

“Stop making me fall in love with you.”


	7. Torn

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A reader has brought to my attention how utterly cliché and terribly irritating it is when characters lie and hide their feelings despite liking each other. I've changed this so that it's not that different, but the ending is not the same.

It's four in the morning, and Louis is cooped up in a chair, his legs curled beneath him, his fingers tugging his pixie hair frustratedly. It's quiet, except for his thoughts running through his head, and the constant intake of breath coming from the awkward, curly-haired boy laying on his bed.

Louis had driven Harry back to his house after he'd passed out, and Louis had to fish through Harry's pockets to find the keys to the large townhouse. He was worried, scared and frankly he should've taken Harry to a hospital, but he couldn't face a hospital. Not after the countless hours he'd spent there by his mother's side.

Now, Harry is in his own bed, his eyes closed and his face resting peacefully. Louis remarks how young Harry looks in his sleep; as if he was sixteen. There isn't a frown on his face, or creases in between his eyebrows from constant worry. His skin is smooth and pale, like alabaster, and Louis can't help himself from running the pads of his fingers across his face.

It's been a few hours, but Louis knows Harry's probably concussed, because when he caught Harry right before he fell, he felt blood on the tips of his fingertips. He had located the wound, and it was just a scratch, which had most definitely come from when Harry had slammed his head against the wall moments before.

Louis has occupied himself for the past few hours by drinking loads of tea, and by gazing around Harry's room and trying to decipher him. He has quite a large room, with a four-poster bed with stonewashed wood, and white bedsheets that are currently entangled in his gangly limbs. The floor is hardwood, a creamy colour that Louis really likes. There's a single window opposite his bed, and the dark, silky curtains are drawn open, because Louis remembered Harry saying that he loves watching the stars. The room is painted a beige colour, and there aren't any posters on the wall. _It's like Harry's skipped his teenage years_ , Louis thinks to himself.

Louis looks out the window, and tries to imagine Harry doing the exact same thing. He can see Harry, curled up in his bedsheets, his eyes wide as he stares at the twinkling lights in the sky. He can imagine himself taking Harry on a date, a single picnic blanket on a grassy hill and the stars high above them, winking at them. The thought makes him blush, and he shakes his head and sighs.

He spies a sleek black iPhone laying on the countertop in the front of the room, and his feet pad across the hardwood floor as he makes his way towards it to distract himself. There isn't a password; and Louis rolls his eyes involuntarily. He doesn't go through the messages, because he's not so rude, but he clicks on the Music app and scrolls.

Louis doesn't know what he's expecting, and a voice in his head crudely reminds him that Harry's an indie artist, and most definitely not in to rap and hip hop like Louis. He scrolls past artists like The Script, Pierce The Veil, Florence and the Machine, Of Monsters and Men, The 1975, The Neighbourhood and Louis hasn't heard half of the songs.

He sets Harry's phone down, because he feels like he's prying, but as he's closing the app, he spies the Notes app, open, and he can't resist. The first note that it's opened on seems to be a poem, but Louis needs to concentrate to make head or tail of it, because he was terrible at poetry in school.

_And oh,_

_How love's keen sting has brought your imprint upon me._

_An imprint that does not allow me to forget thee,_

_An imprint that suffice to say,_

_will sting my heart and cloud my mind,_

_And bring up the utmost feelings of sadness and trepidation._

_You were my great sin,_

_And now,_

_I shall feel love's full wrath,_

_As I burn in hell._

Louis has a keen sense that its about himself, and it makes him flush, and bring back all the thoughts that he's trying to forget.

He can't deny that he has feelings for Harry, because that would be lying and that's one thing Louis doesn't tolerate. He doesn't know what to do; because he thinks he's forcing himself on Harry and he would never be able to live with himself if that was the case. Harry is fragile, and awkward, but he's the most intriguing, beautiful person Louis has encountered, and he wants to get to know Harry in every way possible.

He knows what he did at the club was wrong, but his hormones and the cocktails were fueling him, and he's never had clarity and confusion present at the same time in his mind.

He now knows how Harry feels about him; but he's scared because maybe Harry's feeling this way because Louis forced emotion out of him, forced him to feel something for him by holding his hand and touching him. Maybe he's uncomfortable with it, Louis thinks.

He's also confused because his body reacted to the woman, just as much as it usually does. He's not sure if that means he's bisexual, or just having a fling with Harry. _Maybe I don't want Harry_ , Louis ponders, sitting back down at the chair and taking a sip of his tea. _Maybe I just want the best friend in him that I lost in Nick._

Louis pushes the thought of the dark-haired boy and his deep brown eyes away, because that's a scary path that he doesn't want to travel down and relive tonight.

He needs to focus all his attention on Harry, who is still out cold, but he seems to be alright. Louis knows he should wake him up, because concussions are nasty and he'll have a massive headache if he can't numb it with painkillers, but Louis realizes that Harry has probably been worrying too much to sleep, and needs all the time in dreamland he can get.

Louis raises a tentative hand and brushes Harry's fringe away from his forehead, smoothing it back and tracing his fingers on Harry's skin. Louis brings his fingers to touch Harry's lips, something he's wanted to do for a while, but hasn't in fear of scaring the boy off, and he feels like he's violating Harry at his weakest, but he can't stop. He touches the smooth lips, tracing them and idly wondering if Harry's a good kisser.

"Stop it Lou!" he chides and groans at himself, and Harry stirs slightly but doesn't wake. "You need to stay away from him, stop forcing yourself on him."

He pulls back, sighing and trying to douse the fire that's blazing within him. He wants to touch Harry, but he shouldn't. He knows he shouldn't. 

"Lou?" A croaky whisper fills the air, and Louis finds that he was too distracted to notice Harry waking.

He looks down to find a pair of emerald eyes watching him cautiously. Louis loses himself in his thoughts again, about Harry's green eyes and the way they remind him of a luscious forest in the sunlight.

He shakes his head, smiling down at the younger boy. "Hello, love. How're you feeling?"

Louis promises himself he'll stop nurturing Harry when he's better, because right now; he needs love and affection while he gets better.

"My head hurts. So much Lou," Harry whispers, breathing fast. Louis grabs the painkillers he has ready on the bedside table, passing them to Harry with a glass of water.

Harry thanks him quietly and takes two, before settling back in bed. He also hands Harry a sweet mint to take away the metallic taste of alcohol and the morning breath he probably has.

"What happened?" Harry groans after swallowing and crushing the menthol flavored sweet.

Louis contemplates what to say to him. Does he tell Harry what went down in the alley, or does he make up a lie that saves Harry massive embarrassment and Louis from backing off?

He knows the difference between right and wrong, but he's being selfish because he wants to be in Harry's life. He wants to be around him.

"You don't remember?" Louis tries, and decides that his answer will determine what he does. "Not a clue," Harry murmurs, grabbing Louis' hand and pulling him downwards. "Please come lay with me. Hold me, please. Make the pain go away."

Louis' resolve crumbles at that moment, and he curls around Harry, although Harry's taller. He wants to make Harry feel safe and protected. He wants Harry to feel okay. He throws an arm over Harry's body and a leg across his pelvis, pulling him close and pressing his hand against Harry's forehead.

"You're burning up, Haz," he murmurs, grabbing a cold cloth from the bedside table and draping it over his burning skin. He's prepared.

"Mmm, that feels nice," Harry sighs, his voice still small and weak.

Louis begins to run his fingers through Harry's hair, pulling it back from his face, being careful not to touch his scalp. "You have to stay awake now, Haz. Otherwise it can be very dangerous for you."

"'M tired," Harry mutters, linking his fingers with Louis'. "I wanna sleep."

"Talk to me," Louis says, pulling Harry closer to him. "Tell me things about you. About your childhood."

"Don't wanna talk about my childhood," Harry replies sullenly. "It wasn't nice."

Louis can imagine a much younger Harry, bright-eyed and excited, but nervous and afraid of talking to people. He can imagine people taunting him about it, calling him stupid and retarded and making fun of him for not being able to talk to people. He can imagine him running home and crying, a faceless human that's his mother holding him and her heart breaking because Harry is amazing and he doesn't deserve the treatment he's getting.

Louis' arms tighten instinctively around Harry, and he runs his fingers across Harry's cheek. Harry turns his head in to Louis' touch, and Louis cups his face and traces his thumb along the line of Harry's nose. He giggles softly, and it's a sound that makes Louis flush and his stomach pool with warmth.

"Kids can be mean?" Louis asks as a question rather than a statement.

"Very," Harry whispers weakly, trying to smile but failing miserably.

Harry turns his face away from Louis, curling in on himself. Louis know Harry is reliving the ordeal, and he wants to distract Harry out of his pain. He doesn't want Harry to feel like this, he wants him to be happy.

He hears a muffled sniffle come from the lanky boy in front of him, and he crumbles. He turns Harry's head towards him, sucking in a breath and wiping the tears away swiftly. Harry closes his eyes as he does so; trying to calm his breathing.

"I'm an idiot for crying," Harry says through hiccups. "I'm sorry, it just hurts."

"Hey, you're not an idiot," Louis whispers softly, cupping both his cheeks, his thumb brushing away the last of the tears. "You. Are. Amazing."

"I-I am?" Harry murmurs, shocked by Louis' emphasis.

"You are. You are the most amazing, intriguing human being I have met, and I am completely fascinated by how kind you are." Louis' heart is racing, but he can't stop complimenting Harry. He wants to see him smile.

"You mean that? Really? You can't possibly mean that," Harry sighs, and Louis knows he's shut down again, and he won't accept compliments.

They both fall silent, and Harry is looking up at Louis through tired eyelids, his long eyelashes framing his emerald eyes, his red lips slightly pouted because Louis' fingers are still attached to his cheeks. Louis meets his eyes, and he can't fight the churning feeling in his stomach and the race of his heart. Harry's lips are parted slightly now, his cool breath fanning his face, the smell of mint wafting in the air. His mind is screaming at him to pull away, to shut Harry out and leave, but his heart is tugging him by the hand, leading him forward, towards Harry.

He leans in slowly, his inhibitions flying out the window, and he pulls Harry to him. Their lips touch slowly, finding a way to work together, before Louis pushes their lips firmly together. He can feel that Harry is still, probably shocked beyond belief.

_Does he not want this?_

Louis pulls away suddenly, his fingers in his hair, tugging harshly. He springs off the bed, pacing opposite the window, the moon catching the lighter shades of his hair perfectly. He's forced himself on Harry, something he promised himself he wouldn't do. And he's done it. Just like it was done it him.

"Harry, I'm so sorry," he whispers, his eyes becoming wet. "I'm so so sorry."

"Lou?" Harry questions, "Are you okay? Why did you stop?"

"I c-can't, I just, I mean, I have to-" Louis cuts himself off as he rushes back to the bed, slipping his fingers behind Harry's neck and crashing their lips together.

He's going to regret this, but he decides that he'll let himself be spontaneous for this moment, he's going to kiss Harry and settle his feelings once and for all.

Harry moves his lips against Louis, a little clumsily, but Louis doesn't care, because he's kissing him, and he knows Harry can't function fully after being concussed. Louis curls his fingers in Harry's messy, tousled hair, pulling him closer and pressing his body against Harry's. Harry moans softly, a sound that makes Louis squirm. Their mouths are hot and flush against each other's, a mess of gyrating lips and slippery tongues.

He moves quickly as the kiss becomes heated, sitting astride Harry. Harry's fingers move shakily to Louis' hips, digging hard in to them as their tongues slip together. Louis groans, ignoring the pain and the possible bruising, because this is what he's wanted. He tastes mint and Harry, a flavour that he won't, can't get enough of. His heart is racing as he flattens atop the lanky boy, pressing his whole body against Harry's, and he can feel Harry's heartbeat against his chest, just as rapid, if not faster.

Harry's fingers are gripping at Louis' sides, their kisses becoming sloppy, but Louis doesn't care. He's enamored and caught up in all that is Harry, and he doesn't want this to stop. He doesn't want to leave. But he knows he has to. Sometime anyway.

In a bold move that takes Louis by surprise, Harry breaks their kiss, his lips moving down Louis' neck in a way that makes him gulp and moan when Harry bites and nips softly at his skin. He doesn't move as far as his collarbone, and although he seems confident, Louis can feel Harry shaking with nervousness beneath him. Harry returns his lips to Louis and he immediately responds, and they kiss passionately, minus tongues because they're growing tired.

The boys eventually stop kissing, their breathing harsh and mingling in the air between them. Louis braves looking in to Harry's eyes, finding a look of pure happiness, his green eyes shining. His chest is rising and falling quickly, Louis moving up and down with it, and he traces the lines of Harry's face while pressing small butterfly kisses across his jaw.

He wants to ask questions, he wants to ask if he's forced himself upon Harry, if Harry is being forced in to feeling these things, because he doesn't want that for him. But here, looking in to Harry's eyes that shine with pure amorous intent, he knows that Harry has to feel something for Louis that doesn't come from enforcement, right?

_But no, you forced himself on him. Don't you see? He wasn't trying anything with you. He has these feelings for you because you made him. It's exactly what happened to you, can't you see?_

Louis is battling against himself, his thoughts from the past clouding his decisions. He doesn't want to hurt Harry the way he was hurt. Harry is already so fragile, and Louis doesn't want to be the one who finally breaks him.

 _But he likes me_ , he reasons with himself, _I can see it in his eyes_. _He feels something for me_.

He doesn't know what to think, and being in such close proximity to Harry is toxic, and it is most definitely intoxicating his thoughts and decisions. He pulls away suddenly, leaving a cautious and confused looking Harry wide-eyed on the bed, his lips red and swollen and hair tangled on his head.

_You thought you were in love, didn't you? But you know he forced you in to it. Remember how disappointed he when you didn't listen?_

Louis can't handle this anymore. He can see it in Harry's eyes, and it's confirmed in his words from earlier on, he's confused over Louis. He's probably confused because he knows he doesn't like Louis, but he doesn't want to disappoint him. He can't handle having someone be disappointed in him; just like Louis.

"Oh Harry," Louis whispers, backing up against the wall. "I'm so sorry."

"W-What are you talking about?" Harry murmurs, slowly standing up.

"Please, Harry, don't come closer," Louis croaks, moving further and further away. "I won't be able to handle it. Please."

"Lou, what are you saying?" Harry voice is smaller now, vulnerable, and it's just what Louis didn't want.

"We c-can't do this," he says, gesturing between them, "Anymore. I want to leave but I can't leave you here unattended to."

"But all of that? The kiss? I feel something for you, and I thought you did too." Harry is crying now, Louis can tell he's trying to hide it, but his eyes are brimming and red.

Louis closes his eyes, cringing. His stomach is churning and he's screaming at himself to just let go for once, to be with Harry and feel love and emotion and everything he's been avoiding. He's torn and afraid and he knows that Harry just doesn't want to disappoint Louis, although he may not know it himself. Louis knows because Harry is just like him.

He gulps loudly and opens his eyes, locking with the intense, tearful gaze of Harry's. His heart cracks as he begins to talk.

"I, just, I... Harry, I mean, I want to be...”

“You can talk to me, Lou,” Harry murmurs, his eyes bright and his voice like honey and Louis just loves it so much.

“I just, I can't like, say it, I mean... _Ugh_!” Louis yells out in frustration, retreating out the doorway and slamming the door.

Harry is left in the thick silence of the night, his heart sagging and his mind wondering if he's been rejected.


	8. New Beginnings

Pain is something that Harry is very familiar with. He's been thrown head-first in to its unlawful path, from the way he's constantly insulted and picked on for being different, to the heart-wrenching feeling of not being enough. And that's exactly what he is, not enough.

 The pain he feels now is not physical, but it may as well be. His insides are churning and his chest is aching. He wants to cry, to let it all out, and he's contorting his face in weird ways trying to, but all he can release are dry sobs. It's all pent up inside him, and he wants to scream, but he can't.

 He's staring up at the roof, watching the cheap glow-in-the-dark stickers he's stuck on aimlessly, trying to forget. He's sweating, even though he's only clad in a pair of soft pajama shorts and the covers are thrown carelessly at the bottom of the bed. He wants to forget, but the tingle on his lips and the ghost of Louis' touch is stopping him.

 He's seemed to have dreamt the whole ordeal, and it feels like a dream, but he knows it's not. He can still see it in his mind, the torn look on Louis' face when he comes back on to the bed, connecting their lips. He can feel his heart thumping in his chest, his lips moving in perfect sync with Louis', their hands caressing and pressing in to each other's skin. He can feel Louis on top of him, can feel his defined hips beneath his fingertips. He wants nothing more than to call Louis back in to the room, tell him how he feels, tell him that there's nothing to be afraid of, but he knows he needs to let Louis figure things out for himself, and it tears Harry apart to see him fighting this battle alone.

 Harry knows that there's something that's preventing Louis from acting on his feelings, but Louis is such a tightly wound ball of secrets that Harry's struggled to get anything out of him. He's just hoping that Louis hasn't decided to let go of Harry because of it.

 And there's the familiar pain again, as if it's a hand clasped around his heart, squeezing it tight so that it contracts. Harry feels his eyes become wet, but still, no tears fall.

 A dreadful voice in the back of his mind is reminding him that Harry's not outgoing enough, not funny enough, not good enough for Louis. He's a ball of sunshine, with his bright smile and dazzling eyes that have bewitched him. He wants nothing more than to trace the line of Louis' curves, from his defined thighs to his muscular back. But Harry's not good enough.

 He can hear the faint sound of Louis clattering about in the kitchen, and Harry knows that Louis’ excuse about making tea when he came back in after his tantrum was just so that he could escape the tense atmosphere. Harry hates that Louis refuses to leave, because he wants to be alone to brood, but Louis is adamant about taking care of Harry until he's better. A part of Harry doesn't ever want to get better, a part of him wants Louis to stay and take care of him forever, just so he can be in Louis' company, because he knows that Louis could very well be out of his life as soon as he's healthy enough to take care of himself.

 Louis enters and it makes Harry's heart kick up and his head pound even more. He tries to close his eyes so he doesn't have to see the gorgeous sparkling eyes that are his weakness. He cringes when he recalls the tickling feeling of Louis' stubble rubbing lightly against his cheek, and he gulps.

 It's silent as they drink their tea. Louis is sitting in an armchair in the corner of the room, careful to keep his distance from the weary-eyed boy. Harry sips quietly, trying his best to ignore the tense and electrifying atmosphere around him. They don't speak to each other, and their silence is filled with the sound of night-life and the bustling city beneath Harry's bedroom window. He looks outside cautiously; he can feel Louis' gaze burning in to the side of his head, but he doesn't turn to meet his stare. As he looks at the sky, bright stars twinkling on a rare, cloud-less background, he wishes he had never taken Louis to the event. Maybe they could still be friends without this tense thickness of their unexpected kiss shrouding them. Harry's kind of thankful for it though; because it shoes that Louis actually somehow might want Harry, and it leaves him with a burning sensation of hope that dwindles behind the tension he's currently feeling.

 He feels his eyelids growing heavy, and he drops his teacup on the bedside table with a clatter, his body giving in to the tired feeling. He's slowly drifting off when he feels his body being jerked back to full consciousness.

 "Louis, 'm tired," Harry mumbles, pulling away from his touch. "You can go home, I'll be fine."

 He opens his eyes to slits and watches Louis' face contorted painfully. He doesn't say anything, he kind of wants Louis to feel sad and guilty, and just talk to him and tell him why he's doing what he's doing, because Harry can't handle this silence.

 "I have to keep you awake," Louis whispers, his voice cracking. "You can't go back to sleep."

 Louis is standing over him, his eyes wide and concerned, and his childish demeanor that Harry knows all too well has vanished.

 Harry doesn't know what to say, how to act around Louis anymore. He could make one wrong move, and scare off Louis. He's like a bright-eyed squirrel, curious and eager until Harry does something that sends him running for the bushes. It's such a change to Louis’ usual image, a confident, sarcastic kitten with soft eyes and a sharp tongue and a playful demeanor that leaves Harry's head swirling and his heart pounding.

Harry wonders idly what would happen if he fell asleep. Maybe all the uncertainty he's feeling would slowly dissipate, maybe all the little flurries of pain that stab at him would cease. Maybe he should just fall asleep.

And that's ultimately what he's trying to escape, the pain of rejection. The familiar feeling fluttering through his body, tantalizing and tormenting him with its painful ache. He doesn't want to feel this.

 He also wishes he wasn't so tired, because maybe he would care about the things he's saying, or more particularly, the things he's asking Louis.

 "Am I just that terrible and unbearable that you don't want to be in a relationship with me? Or are you not gay?" Harry asks softly, his voice vulnerable and unsure.

 Louis sucks in a breath through his teeth, wincing, and Harry fights the sleep that's calling him and sits up to gauge Louis' reaction. His body is slumped, his head aching painfully, but it's slowly being dulled by the painkillers. He looks down when Louis doesn't answer for a while, watching his skinny arms that adorn goosebumps, his bare chest pallid. His stomach is swirling around, with anxiety or the intention to vomit, he's not sure.

 "You are not terrible, or unbearable," Louis finally answers, sounding quite exasperated, and Harry looks up at him. "I'm bisexual, Harry. At least, I think I am. I've only been attracted to two boys." Louis' cobalt eyes are bright and rimmed with unshed tears. He blinks them back, and his face becomes unreadable. His eyes bore in to Harry's, and Louis looks torn as he tentatively intertwines his fingers with Harry.

 Harry sucks in a breath, wanting to pull his hand away in fear of rejection, but he doesn't because a rational voice speaks up in his head.

  _When is the next time you'll be able to do this?_

 The familiar feeling of something Harry doesn't quite want to define runs through him, and his cheeks grow warm and Louis sits down beside him, his legs crossed and his head bowed, staring at their hands. They're both pale, both illuminated by the murky moonlight that's pooling in from outside.

 "You're quite the opposite," Louis continues on from his earlier monologue on Harry being not-unbearable, and Harry watches him intently.

 His eyebrows are knitted together in what Harry can only assume as thought, his eyes pierced and glaring. He still touches Harry with his gentle fingers, but everything else about his demeanor speaks of harshness.

 "Then why did you leave? Don't you feel this?" Harry brings their fingers up to his heart, which is beating steadily until Louis touched his bare chest, his warm hand sending tingled through his body. His heart immediately kicks up, and Louis gasps quietly.

 "I-I do. I mean, I shouldn't, but I do and I can't help it," Louis ushers, pulling his hand away so he can rest his head in both of his hands. He looks so confused, and it makes Harry want to wrap his arms around Louis and hug him until he looks like sunshine again.

 "T-Talk to me, Lou," Harry murmurs, and curses himself because he's stuttering again.

 Louis sighs and stifles a sob, his fingers now pulling at his hair. Harry can't take it anymore. He moves quickly, his body disagreeing with him, and he holds back a cry of pain as he wraps his arms around a shaking Louis, pulling him to rest in between his legs. He wraps his arms around Louis as he turns around to rest quietly against Harry's chest.

 Harry's proud of himself for not being awkward about this, and not elbowing Louis by mistake or digging in to hard with his fingers. He metaphorically pats himself on the head, and continues to caress Louis' shaking arms. Their legs are tangled with the sheets, the smaller boy pressed in between Harry's legs, his stomach resting against Harry's, his fingers resting above Harry's right nipple, hand curled in to a fist. Harry's one arm is wrapped around Louis' waist, tracing up and down his arm.

 Harry doesn't have words to comfort Louis, he never has the right words, and he wracks his brain for a way to calm the shaking boy that lies in his arms. He only knows one way, and he's going to hate himself if he stuffs it up.

 " _She'll come to me in a dream_ ," Harry sings softly, and Louis stills in his arms. " _And I don't even know her name. A pretty mark upon her breast, to signify her from the rest._ "

 Louis sniffs and hums slightly, curling up closer to Harry and gripping his bare chest, as if it's his life jacket and he's cast in to the sea. He is lost enough to be adrift in the middle of nowhere, Harry thinks to himself.

 " _But her and I are just the same, building bridges out of faith_ ," Harry continues softly, his smooth voice flowing and piercing the silence of the night. " _She stands upon a dinner plate, and tells me that I'll have to wait._ "

 Harry stops singing, not wanting to give Louis the whole song because it's something he's been working on for a while, and wants it to be a surprise, and Louis seems to have calmed down, anyway.

 "You sing beautifully," Louis murmurs, his voice muffled by Harry's skin. "I saw you preform on Ellen. You said my name. Instead of you, you said Lou."

 "What?" Harry gasps, stiffening.

 "You didn't realize it? I thought it was rather cute," Louis teases, his old self slowly returning.

 "It's embarrassing," Harry mutters.

 They lapse in to a silence, one that's not as tense, but there's still an underlying, uneasy feeling that makes Harry nervous. He continues to hold Louis close to him, but as his confidence slowly wears off, he suddenly wishes Louis was the one holding him.

 "Never thought you'd be the one comforting me," Louis laughs through his tears, and it's a magical sound to Harry.

 "I'm stronger than you think," Harry whispers, "But I still want to know why you ran away if you're perfectly happy with this."

 "Okay," Louis breathes, "I was scared that I was forcing you in to having feelings for me, that I was pushing things on you that you weren't ready for. You just mesmerized me so much and I didn't know I wanted you until that night we drank here. I love learning and noticing things about you and seeing your reaction when I say things you haven't even told me. I know what it's like to think you like someone but you don't, you just like the attention and when you realize it's too late." Louis words are fast and jumbled together, but Harry can understand him perfectly.

 Harry is startled at Louis' revelation. He can't imagine Louis being taken advantage of, let alone being forced to do something he doesn't want to do. Harry knows inside that he feels something deep for Louis, but he hasn't a clue as to how to get him to realize it. If Louis has real, unadulterated feelings for Harry, then Harry thinks he just might spontaneously combust.

 "Do you, um, have feelings, you know, for um, me?" Harry squeaks out, and he feels Louis' body vibrate in laughter.

 "Yes, you socially-awkward teenager. Yes, I do."

 Harry feels so many emotions at once; relief, happiness, and utter exasperation. It's been so long that Louis has felt the same way, couldn't he just have said something?

 Harry groans and slaps Louis’ chest, quite hard, because he's kind of angry and terribly relieved at the same time. “Don't do that! Don't scare me and tell me you don't like me when you do. We're better than that, Louis. I hate those kind of people. We can talk this through, always, yeah?”

 “Yeah, 'm sorry, Harry,” Louis says, feeling ashamed.

 Louis has spent his whole life running from problems, pulling away and lying as soon something became too hectic or too problematic. He pulls away when he doesn't want to feel something, or if he senses danger. He's only recently spent his life walking on eggshells, though, after being spontaneous and ending up extremely hurt.

 “You can always talk to me, okay?”

 “I'm just not good with the relationship stuff, I just, I get-”

 Louis suddenly turns around in Harry's grasp, stretching his neck up so his eye level is equal to Harry's.

 "Promise me one thing," Louis murmurs, "that this is real. That I haven't forced you to feel anything, that you feel real feelings for me."

 Louis' beautiful eyes shine with hope and anticipation, and Harry's heart melts.

 "I promise."

 "Then, Mr Styles, once you're up and functioning again, how would you like to go on a real, proper date, the Tomlinson way?"

 "I would love to," Harry whispers, suddenly conscious of himself.

 They lock eyes, and he's slowly leaning in to kiss Louis again, and his heart and mind is racing, and suddenly, so is his stomach. His eyes widen, and he hears the faint sound of Louis beginning to speak, probably asking what's going on, but he's already in the bathroom, his stomach contents emptying in to the toilet. He gags repeatedly, his stomach clenching, and nothing's coming out but he just keeps gagging. Louis is behind him, rubbing his back up and down and trying to soothe Harry. He's got beads of sweat all over his body, and his stomach muscles are starting to hurt, and his head is pounding, and it all makes him want to pass out again.

 When he's finished, he sags against the toilet seat, the cool metal welcome against the hot skin against his cheek, and he tries to swallow the acidic taste against a dry mouth. Louis is suddenly picking him up off of the floor, his body slumping and unwilling to co-operate as much as Harry tries. He manages to flush the toilet and splash water on his face, but he struggles with the mouthwash, because his hands are shaking with sickness and weakness. Louis cups his hand with his smaller, warmer one, and tilts Harry's head back with a gentle tug of his hair, and gently empties the content in to Harry's mouth.

 Harry is grateful for Louis as he gargles weakly, spitting it out and thanking Louis quietly. Louis helps him in to bed and bolts downstairs to grab a large bucket in case Harry has the urge to vomit again, and Harry just stares after him, trying to calm his stomach and his head. He's pretty sure that he's just thrown up his painkillers, but he's not sure if he should take more.

 Both boys are just as scared as the other, both craving each other but too scared of rejection to face it. Louis has been cooped up inside his dark thoughts, his demons of the past scaring him and pulling him out of any relationships. Harry has little to no experience in the greater scheme of things, and fears not being good enough. Harry's so happy that they can move past this place, this place of silence and tension, this place where both their demons shine and drive them away from one another. Harry wants Louis, and Louis wants Harry, and they're slowly getting to a place where they can be themselves with each other.

 Louis returns and climbs in to bed with Harry, curling up against the back of him, and Harry feels protected and better with Louis' smaller frame curled around him. Harry knows he can't sleep, so he sighs and turns around so Louis is hugging him tightly against him, Harry's head resting peacefully on Louis' chest, and Louis sneezes because Harry's hairs are tickling his nose. Harry turns on the TV that's bolted in to the wall in front of them, and him and Louis spent the next six hours watching crap television, Harry throwing up once or thrice, and the two boys watch the sunrise from Harry's favourite window, and he can't help but think that he could most definitely get used to having Louis around.

 


	9. I'll Take Care Of You.

Harry has never been this happy in his entire lifetime.

He's had four days of tentative hand-holding and cuddles, four days of burnt toast and perfect pancakes drizzled with golden syrup. Four days of early mornings at the coffee shop, chatting away for hours and hours, four days of rummaging in the thinning snow. Four days of utter bliss.

Harry wakes up, his eyes adjusting to the stream of weak sunlight that dribbles in to his room through his open window, hardly warming his cold, gangly frame. He rolls over, his groans muffled by his pillow, his arms outstretched to find his favourite hot-water bottle. He wriggles his fingers around, but all he can grasp is empty, tangled sheets. He leans on one arm as he sits up, his eyes closed to slits, searching for Louis. He blinks once, twice, but he can't see the chestnut fluff of hair that identifies as his sunshine boy. He wipes his face and coughs loudly, a dull pain shooting through his head, but he ignores it and grabs the sheet of paper that he spots at the end of the bed.

 

_Hey love, gran called me in for a shift, and I've got a lecture today that I cannot miss. It's almost exams, you know. You're a massive distraction! I'll see you tonight if I can get away from studying. xxx_

_P.S You sleep for soooo long, so long that I've been able to edit this note. I've been to the coffee shop and brought back a cupcake and some coffee... It's in the microwave when you want to heat it up, I know you won't be awake for a while. xx_

 

He traces his fingers across the swoops and arches of Louis’ boyish handwriting, his teeth grasping his bottom lip, trying to suppress a smile. He's upset, because he's got a whole day and probably more of this week where he's alone, but he wants Louis to pass, obviously. He pushes back his selfish thoughts and gets up to grab his coffee, sipping at it after he's warmed it up in the microwave.

He sits on the sleek, metal barstool, his elbows leaning on the cold marble of the kitchen counter, a warm cup clasped between his fingers, deep in thought. These last few days have been the best of his existence, but he can't help but overthink and wonder what's going through Louis’ mind. He hasn't said anything about what their relationship is defined as, hell, if there even is a relationship other than friendship. Louis hasn't tried to kiss Harry again, and Harry isn't forward enough to try, but he remembers the soft caress of Louis’ plump lips on his. His insides scramble as soon as he remembers the feeling, and he shivers slightly with a smile on his face.

Louis also hasn't taken Harry out on a date; all they've accomplished is watching crap movies on Netflix and Harry cooking them dinner every night, while Louis makes salad for lunch. They go out to the coffee shop every morning, drinking caffeine until noon, and he's sure Daisy has her eye on them, but she doesn't say anything except how much she loves that her favourite two boys are friends.

Louis’ display of affection is what confuses Harry the most. He has always been openly (and overly) affectionate, wrapping his arms around Harry and burying his face between his shoulder blades while Harry is cooking, or intertwining their fingers and resting his head and body against Harry while they're on the couch, or coddling and spooning Harry with his leg thrown over his waist and his arms wrapped protectively around him, despite his smaller frame. Harry always feels protected and loved with Louis is around him, and he wouldn't have it any other way.

The house feels large and empty without Louis singing loudly in the kitchen, or the soft pad of his little feet coming down the stairs on the cool tiles, and he thinks maybe this is a good time to get to writing some songs.

He brings his cupcake and half-full cup of coffee with him as he walks towards a small corridor next to the staircases, ignoring the voice in his head scolding him about having a cupcake for breakfast. He knows he’s alright, because he can eat almost anything and still remain gangly and thin.

The corridor holds two rooms; a bathroom and a song room. He opens the door, the chilling cold of the mostly-empty room swooping in and freezing him. He forgets to shut the window every time he leaves, but the cold seems to help his thought process. He quickly grabs a fluffy gown from upstairs and wraps it around his tall, lanky frame. He walks back in to the room; containing hardwood floors with pure white walls and a large crevice with a window and a small seating area along the windowsill. There's a range of guitars in the corner, and that's about it, really. He opens a drawer underneath the windowsill cushions and pulls out a worn-looking, brown leatherback journal. He has black pen etchings in the leather, words and symbols and letters that all mean something to him. He pulls the pen out of the spine of the book and settled on the comfortable cushions, his back leaning up against several pillows, arranged just the way he likes it. He chews his bottom lip, staring out at the view of London that he has before him.

It's early morning (for Harry anyway) but it's probably about eleven, the skies grey and dreary. He sees brown brick buildings and cars zooming past on darkened, rain-stained asphalt. It hasn't snowed again, which Harry is really bummed about, but it has rained thoroughly. He can't see the sun, not even an indication as to where it's hiding behind the thick, grey clouds. He sucks in a breath of air from outside, rich and cool, with traces of smog and thickness. He clears his head and closes his eyes, digging deep in to himself and finding feelings he can write about.

He cannot help it when he latches on to the feeling of never-ending nerves and fond churning about in his stomach, and he immediately puts the feeling to the face of a chestnut, pixie-haired boy with the sparkling blue eyes that resemble the ocean on a perfect day. He wants to write about Louis.

 

_I was scared of dentists and the dark_

_I was scared of pretty girls and starting conversation_

He sighs because he wants to say pretty boys, pretty _Louis_ , but his management would never allow it. He's pro-women, according to them, and he can't do anything to change their minds. He presses his pen to the creamy pages of his notebook, imprints of letters dusting the blank space from the lyrics on the other pages, and he doesn't know where he's going with this song, but he just keeps writing.

 

_Oh, All my friends are turning green_

_You're the magician's assistant in their dream_

_Oh, and they come unstuck._

_Lady, running down to the riptide,_

_Taken away to the dark side_

_I wanna be your left hand man._

_And I love you, when you're singing that song_

_And I got a lump in my throat_ _’cause_

_You're gonna sing the words wrong._

 

It's taken Harry two and a half hours to write the first verse and chorus, but he's happy with it, so immensely happy with it, and he sets his book down because he's run out of ideas on what to write and he's frankly all burned-out. He gets up, stretching and popping his stiff muscles, and he slumps down, feeling mellow and happy. He always gets like this after expressing his feelings, and he decides on a whim that he's going to go out. Where? He hasn't a clue.

Once he's showered and safely warm in a massive black trench coat and several undershirts, he tugs on his scuffed brown boots on top of his black skinnies, and decides to take a walk.

It isn't raining when he gets out, and he's glad because he has styled his hair in case of a possible run-in with Louis, and although its very unlikely, it's not entire impossible. He listens to the clack of the heel of his boot on the pavement, the reassuring, constant rhythm helping him to clear his thoughts. He loves it when he gets like this; not worried and calm. It's his favourite state of being, and he hopes it won't change throughout the course of the day.

Harry takes a turn and smiles briefly when he sees that the Friday Market is up and running down the next block. Small, wooden stalls are hung with bright merchandise and several coloured fairy lights that catch your eye and draw you to them. He stops and gets a hot chocolate, which is sloshing about in a jar, which Harry thinks is really cool and out of the box. He sips it slowly as he walks past fluorescent scarves that swing from the top of the stall in the wind, and Harry contemplates buying Louis one but he laughs and decides against it.    

He's browsing through some interesting rings when he's bumped in to by a tuff of blonde hair and blue eyes that look very apologetic.

“Shit! I'm so sorry, man, I wasn't looking-”

“It's okay, really,” Harry smiles, gazing briefly across the attractive blonde. “I'm Harry.”

“I'm Niall,” he replies, his accent distinctly Irish. “Sorry ’bout that, again. ’Least I can do is buy you lunch? To make up for it?”

“Yeah, but I'm still looking a bit. Wanna join me?” Harry asks politely, and Niall nods and smiles.

Harry ends up buying two metal rings that fit his fingers snugly, and matching teddy bears for him and Louis. It's cheesy, but he knows Louis will love them.

“Got a girlfriend at home, eh?” Niall wiggles his eyebrows, flicking Harry on the shoulder, but Harry just blushes and murmurs, “Something like that.” 

They get to a stall with hundreds of football jerseys flapping about, and Niall points out the University's football teams’ jersey.

“Are you on the team?” Harry asks, his interest piqued.

“Yeah, me and my mates. You go to the Uni?” Niall replies, “Never seen you around.”

“Uhm, no,” Harry laughs awkwardly, “I'm a singer.”

Niall turns around and studies Harry intently, his eyebrows scrunched and his eyes peeled. Niall pokes Harry in his cheek, causing Harry to look at him weirdly, but Niall gasps and claps Harry on the back. “The dimple! You must be Harry Styles! That amazing indie artist?”

Harry laughs with embarrassment, “Yeah, that's me, I guess. How'd you know? The dimple?”

“This guy on our team, Louis right, he's always talking and gushing about you. Like, your music and stuff. He says that you've got this dimple on your right cheek that he loves. We asked him how he knows this and he says he's a great stalker. I've probably embarrassed him now. But at least you've got male stalkers too.” Niall winks and laughs, a loud, guffaw that Harry can't help but chuckle at.

“Maybe I should surprise him, then. Get a Uni jersey with his name on the back?” Harry offers, and Niall nods enthusiastically and says, “I'll even pay for it mate, he'll be so amazed that I met you and got you to do this. I think he'll have a heart attack.”

Against Harry's protests, Niall buys the jersey and the man selling them kindly puts _LOUIS TOMLINSON_ across the back with his fancy machine, and it looks great. Niall also buys them lunch, which makes Harry really miff because he doesn't like having so much money spent on him, but Niall reassures him that it's not a problem at all.

“We have a game today,” Niall chatters excitedly through his full mouth. “You've got to come. Like, seriously. He'll be blown away. Phone your girlfriend and tell her that you've got somewhere to be, mate. Please?”

“I guess I can,” Harry smiles smugly.

Harry feels so warm and happy inside, because Louis talks about him to his friends, even pretending to be a massive stalker so he doesn't seem _too_ gay. Harry's sure that Louis always says, “Yeah, but no homo, like, he's a great singer. Got a nice dimple, too. Yeah. Nice.”

Harry isn't sure if Louis has come out to his football team, if he's even gay, or bisexual. He seems to have been with girls, except for Harry and that mysterious man that Harry suspects took advantage of him. Harry needs more time to think about that, though.

It's four thirty now, after spending hours chatting to Niall, Harry has decided that he's a great lad, and he really wants to be friends with him, and it's better if he's also mates with Louis, because then they can all hang out.

Harry is in Niall's car, the radio blaring his own songs, and Harry can't help but blush and sing along. Niall laughs really loud half the time and pats Harry on the back every time he makes a joke, and eventually they pull up to the football grounds, the sky grey and drizzling. Harry pulls his coat closer around him as they walk through the drizzle, and Niall leaves him for a second to talk to the coach.

Harry takes the opportunity to survey the plush, green grass that has been mowed to perfection. It's slightly slippery, but bright green, which is unusual for grass in the winter. The stadium is large, with massive stadium lights that suddenly flash on, flooding the pitch in bright white pools, the grass looking more luminous than ever.

The stadium is filling up, and quickly, and Harry's feeling very self-conscious standing on the side of the pitch in a large black trench coat and skinnies, and he's sure that people are starting to notice him, starting to realize who he is. A few girls mull about and chatter excitedly behind him, pointing, probably thinking they're being subtle, but Harry's cheeks are flushing because he's getting so much attention. Before long, there's a whole row of girls behind him, calling out _Harry my friend wants to date you!_  before one of the girls clamps a hand down on the other and they laugh uncontrollably.

Niall finally returns, saving Harry, and he says that he's got permission from the coach to stay on the sidelines with the subs of the team. Harry thanks him and wishes him good luck with a clap on his back and a hug, and Niall promises that the whole team already knows and won't spoil the surprise. He cannot wait to see Louis.

Niall disappears through a tunnel and Harry's left alone once again on the pitch. He walks towards the bench where some of the team are stretching and warming up, and they smile at Harry and gesture for him to come over. They all greet him politely and clap him on the back.

“Lou has forced us to listen to your music. It's not house music, but it's pretty great, considering,” a blonde boy with green eyes smiles.

“C-considering?” Harry stutters, his stutter and social anxiety laughing at him.

“It's mostly girls that ’re in to that stuff,” a dark-haired boy with warm brown eyes says to him. “I'm Liam by the way. But I really do love your music. Much better than that house shit.”

“Thanks mate,” Harry says nervously, “Really means a lot.”

“Glad to hear it.”

Harry chatters amicably with the rest of the team as they arrive in drips and drabs, the stadium brimming with life and shouts and guffaws. It's dark now, the clouds slowly merging to form one dark blanket about the brightened stadium. Everyone's on the pitch now, including Louis, who's stretching and giving Harry a rather interesting view of his perfectly-sculpted behind. Harry bites his lip as he stares at him, and as if Louis senses that he's being watched, he turns around, and his eyes grow wide as he stares at Harry, his lips slightly parted in surprise.

A whistle is blown and both teams retreat off of the pitch to the sidelines, where they group up and the coach gives them a very inspiring speech, and they're all jumping up and down and getting excited and clapping each other on the back. Harry stands aside, a proud smile on his face when Louis takes the reins and starts talking up his teammates, and they all nod and grin.

Niall suddenly turns in the circle and calls Harry over, and the group dismisses to do last minute rituals and things, and next to him is Louis, his eyes unusually blue and his mouth crinkled in to a smile.

“I don't recall telling you I had a game today,” Louis’ eyebrows perk up in interest, his gaze calculating, but amused.

“I had to snoop around a bit, you know. I didn't believe that the famous, Louis _-I'm-too-cool-to-study-_ Tomlinson was actually doing work,” Harry smirks, and it seems that Louis can't resist, because he steps forward and wraps his warm body around Harry, clouding Harry's senses with fond and the smell of sandalwood and musk.

Harry knows that Louis makes him feel confident, because if it were anyone else, he would've replied with “O-oh, I'm so sorry, I didn't mean to intrude, I-I just...” But he knows that Louis wants him there, and it's a feeling he'll never get enough of; the feeling of someone wanting him around. He wraps his arms around Louis’ waist, pressing his body against Louis’ smaller frame. Louis curls his arms around Harry's neck, pulling him closer and whispering in his ear, “You're a very naughty boy, Mr. Styles. Stalking me like this.”

“Only for you, Mr. Tomlinson.”

They break apart, broad smiles upon both of their beautiful faces, and Niall whines next to them. They both turn to look at him, and he's pouting and crossing his arms over his chest, surveying them with mock-disdain.

“I thought I was playing matchmaker! But you two know each other already! Ah, fuck it,” Niall groans, stomping away and rolling his eyes.

“I hear you fancy me quite a bit, according to locker room talk,” Harry wiggles his eyebrows, and Louis whines and hits him and mutters, “Shove off, idiot.”

The whistle blows again, and Louis is taking off his top, throwing it on Harry before running on to the pitch. Harry holds on to the warm, black tracksuit top with both his arms, loving the smell of Louis on it, whispering “Good luck, Lou.”

Liam stays on the bench with a few other boys while everyone else that Harry knows is on the pitch, moving towards their starting spots and getting pumped. Liam stands up next to Harry and crosses his arms over his chest, the muscle bulging and straining against the tight fabric of the white football jersey. Harry tries not to look, and Louis’ bum in the air makes it very easy.

“Is he your boyfriend?” Liam blurts as the starting whistle trills, and the boys are off, darting and weaving around each other.

“What? N-no, no,” Harry stutters, and he knows it's because Louis is absent and Harry doesn't seem to be confident anymore. “He's a m-mate.”

“He sure talks about - Ref! That was clearly a foul you shit! - an awful lot,” Liam yells, and Harry has to laugh at his enthusiasm for the game.

He gets in to it soon, trying to push Liam's words away about how Louis talks about him a lot, trying to keep the blush from going to his cheeks, and he finds himself whooping and yelling every time a Louis gets the ball, and goes mental when he scores a goal, his small frame darting around in celebration, his hands up and fist-pumping the air. 

Louis runs up to the sidelines where Harry is standing, his arms flailing about and his mouth curved open in a loud shout, and Harry taps Louis on the bum as he runs past, and Louis turns around, flabbergasted, an amused, adrenaline-fueled smile coating his beautiful face. 

Louis is like the sunshine, Harry thinks to himself, he's bright and bubbly and makes Harry feel so warm inside. He chews his bottom lip, trying to keep from smiling, and he smiles back at Louis, his eyes crinkled and his stomach churning.

The game carries on, the Uni winning three to one, when a fight breaks out on the green. Harry watches in astonishment as a boy of the opposite team slide tackles Louis, and Louis falls, his body slamming against the ground, and the crowd goes silent.

Harry can hear the crickets chirping, the hushed murmurings of the crowd, and he watches at Louis gets up, wiping blood from a scrape on his face, coughing loudly, before falling against, a loud cry of pain resonating from his mouth.

Harry immediately rushes on to the pitch, his heart thumping and causing a headache in his still-healing head. He drops to Louis’ side, and gasps when he sees the smaller boy's face contorting in pain, his white fingers clutching his ankle. He's whining, and all he can make out is “Haz.”

“’M here, Lou,” Harry whispers quietly, stroking Louis’ beads of sweat away from his forehead, “Open your eyes, come on.”

Louis cracks an eye open, his body wracked with loud gasps, and he sniffs quietly, “Please wipe the tears away, Haz. I don't want them to see me like this. This…weak.”

“Of course,” Harry replies earnestly, eager to please Louis in his fragile state, and carefully dusts away his tears.

No one has come to Louis’ side yet, and Harry turns to see the entire stadium watching them with wonderment and awe, the scintillating, blinding stadium lights shining down on the two boys. The paramedics are halted on the sideline, the teams pausing their fighting to watch Louis and Harry.

“Come on, love. We can get this sorted and go home, and I'll make you a cuppa and you can boss me around, and I'll do everything you want,” Harry coos, gently stroking Louis’ bicep.

“Anything?” Louis cocks an eyebrow up, his voice weak and frail. He sits up, grabbing on to Harry's arm for assistance, but he doesn't stand.

“Figures. Even when you're in pain, you're still ridiculous,” Harry scoffs, shaking his head.

He gestures for the paramedics to come on, and they rush to Louis’ side, and it seems as if time is suddenly in action again, and Harry watches in horror as Niall stomps over to the dark-haired boy that tackled Louis.

“What the fuck did you think you were doing?” He yells loudly, pushing the boy backwards.

“Back off, you wanker. It was just a slide tackle, I didn't mean to injure him or anythin’,” the boy shrugs, brushing off grass from his shoulders.

“You lyin’ shit! You fuckers knew you were losing, and took out our star player! You bunch of pricks!” Niall grabs the boy by his shirt and tugs him closer, tripping his feet out from under him.

“Hey, stop it you faggot! He didn't do anything wrong!” The boy's teammates call, and the boy is on the ground, moaning, and then, all hell breaks loose.

Both sides step in to aide their respective players, and before long, people are piling on top of each other, getting in each other's faces and pushing and shoving. The ref is in the middle of it, trying to stop it, but no one is listening.

Harry turns his attention back to Louis, whose ankle is swollen and his knuckles are white as they clasp Harry's leg. Harry sits down next to him, grabbing his hand and tucking it underneath his warm, clumsy fingers. Louis whines as they bandage his ankle, and he winces and moans when they keep tightening it.

“Stop! It hurts,” he groans, but they just shush him and tape an ice-pack over it. Louis yells out in pain, and soon, the cold is sweeping through his foot and biting at his skin.

“I'm such a shit,” Louis curses as the paramedics lift him up. He reaches for Harry to support his other side, and Harry wraps his arm around Louis, pulling him in to his side, and Louis rests his sweaty hair on Harry's shoulder, but he doesn't mind, not one bit.

They eventually manage to convince Louis to get in to Niall's car so that they can head home, after the match is called off and a rematch is scheduled for the end of the season. Louis swears continuously the whole wayas he wobbles off the pitch, his shoe catching in the wet grass, but smiles thinly when the massive stadium begins to chant his name, a loud chorus that Harry knows leaves Louis swirling with pride.

Louis smells of sweat and faint musk, his cologne obviously wearing off, but it's a heavenly scent to Harry nonetheless. Niall is driving and Louis has forced Harry to sit in the back with him. His head is resting in Harry's lap, the rest of his short build lying across the backseat. His foot is up against the window, the warm skin making foot marks against the cold glass.

“I'm glad you came tonight,” Louis whispers, but the radio is on and Niall is singing away obnoxiously, turning back to check on his mate every now and then.

“You played so great Lou, like...wow,” Harry gushes, trying to make Louis feel better, but he can tell from the amused smile playing on his lips that Harry has only succeeded in embarrassing himself.

Harry looks down, his fingers knotted in Louis’ hair, his cheeks flaming and his heart beating erratically. He sighs, and Louis reaches shaky fingers up to Harry's chin, pulling him down awkwardly to look at him. “I love it when you blush.”

And God only knows how, but that just makes Harry blush even more. He blames whoever gifted him with his pallid expression. Harry never sees a blush creep on Louis’ golden chees. He stifles an awkward giggle, tracing his fingers along Louis’ face.

 

When Louis is finally settled in Harry's bed, his foot up on four plush pillows, his back leaning comfortably against the headboard, a steaming cup of tea in his hands, Harry finally relaxes. Louis managed earlier to get himself showered (although there were a few innuendoes made that involved Harry helping him) and clean, and he's in a pair of Harry's sweatpants that hang for too low on his hips for Harry to concentrate on anything but the curve of his v-line and the chiseled muscle above it.

“Stop drooling,” Louis had teased, but Harry's mouth was _literally_ open at the time.

Harry settles in to bed next to Louis, their fingers meeting in between the gap between them, Louis’ soft thumb tracing the back of Harry's hand. Harry slouches in to bed, exhausted, and listens to Louis breathe and the sound of cartoons on the telly.

“When I said I was glad you came, I meant because there was no one else I'd rather have attend to me when I'm weak,” Louis murmurs just before Harry can fall asleep.

“Just returning the favour,” Harry mumbles in to the pillow. “It feels nice to be the one taking care of someone, instead of being the one being taken care of.”

“I always knew you were strong enough to look after people. Especially the cocky, wiser-cracker with amazing hair over here.”

“You do have amazing hair.”

“That I do, love, that I do.”

And Harry slowly falls asleep then, his mind clouded with thoughts like _What are we? We haven't been on a date yet... Does he still want me?_

But his questions are answered by Louis when he murmurs fondly, “I can't wait anymore. When I'm better, I'll take you out. And then I'll kiss you as much as I have wanted to these past few days.”

 

˜

  

The next morning, Harry is attending to Louis’ every command, stirring cups of steaming Yorkshire tea and replacing Louis’ ice pack whenever it melts. Louis is looking pretty smug about the whole thing, lying back on Harry’s plush couch with his bandaged ankle on Harry’s _very_ expensive coffee table, but he really doesn’t mind. He's built a small tower of pillows so that Louis’ foot is elevated, much to the complaint of the pixie-haired boy, who has to lean to the side to watch the television.

(Harry may or may not have gotten a technician while Louis was aping to move the flat screen higher up on the wall.)

He drives Louis to his classes on Monday, Wednesday and Thursday, dropping him as close to the corridors as he can get. Louis smiles brightly at him, thanking him sincerely before hobbling to his classes, his mop of chestnut hair disappearing in to large, stone walls covered in ivy.   

Harry doesn’t know what he's doing, running around for a boy that he hasn’t defined anything with yet, but all he tells himself is that Louis would do the same thing for him.

He spends the rest of Thursday reading from the pile of books he's got stacked in the one corner of his room, curled up on his bed, his body tangled in a furry blanket. His mind is wandering as he reads – escaping in to his own world of fantasy and romance.

And okay, maybe Harry reads books that can be defined as feminine, like The City of Bones Saga, every John Green book around, but he will not admit to reading Twilight.

No. Nope. Not at all.  

But he's allowed to really, because he's read every classic on the block, his copies dog-eared and wrinkling because of old age. And being dropped in the bath.

But no one other than Harry needs to know that.

He loves the way he can escape in to a world of his own as he reads, running alongside the characters through their journeys, falling in love with them and having his heart broken when something terrible happens.

So when his phone is buzzing loudly on the beside table, making a rather loud noise as it vibrates against the wood, he turns his head to find that its already four thirty in the afternoon, his clock mocking him as his cheeks grow red. He's forgotten to pick Louis up.

He answers the call, a sheepish smile on his face, “Uhm, yeah, traffic is kinda bad, Lou-“

“You liar,” Louis sasses back, his voice only half-joking. “I’m freezing my bollocks off and you’ve probably been skipping in fields and reading fanfiction about yourself.”

“Not true,” Harry argues, “I’m on my way.”

Harry rolls his eyes and drops the phone after Louis calls him something rather unethical. When he pulls up to the uni ten minutes later, he sees Louis talking to a group of people he doesn’t recognize. Louis hasn’t see him yet, and Harry sits back and watches him, because Louis is a person that Harry can sit and just admire what he's like, and never actually get bored.

Louis is always the centre of attention wherever he goes, with eyes trained on him and hanging on to his every word. Harry watches Louis as he smiles smugly, because he knows that everyone wants to be around him and talk to him, knows this when they laugh at his jokes, or when the girls graze his arms with their fingertips. Harry fights the jealously brewing in his stomach because at that moment, Louis turns away and spots Harry’s car, and immediately waves goodbye to his mates, and they all watch him leave, because he's that memorizing.

“Freezing your bollocks off my arse, Tomlinson,” Harry quips as Louis bundles in to the passenger seat of his car, eyes bright and nose pink from the cold. “Those girls seemed pretty keen on keeping you warm.”

“Jealous, babycakes?” Louis retorts, winking at Harry before lifting his weak leg and placing it in the car, before shutting the door, and they’re on their way.

Louis hasn’t been back to his dorm except to fetch clothes and necessities when he runs out, and Niall says nothing when he walks out and sees Harry’s car waiting for Louis, just throws him a thumbs up and a wink before getting in to his own car. Harry always blushes when Niall catches him waiting for Louis, because it makes him feel like they're sneaking around.

Despite these two trips that Harry has made so that Louis can pick up some of his stuff, he's never gone inside Louis’ dorm room. He's offered, several times (insisted is more like it), but Louis just pushes him back in to the car and shuts the door on him.

Harry’s not sure what he's hiding, but Louis isn’t shady like that – or so Harry hopes. He hasn’t known Louis for too long, long enough to be friends, but definitely not long enough to be friends the way that they are.

Harry and Louis instantly clicked with each other, which obviously sprouted this affectionate friendship that Harry swears is an awkward-something-more, but he doesn’t question anything about their relationship because honestly, he doesn’t have the guts to, and because he's afraid that Louis’ answer might be the complete opposite to what he's hoping for.

That night, they're wrapped in blankets next to the fireplace, because a nasty cold front has ripped through London, and it seems like its here to stay for a while, and they're positively _freezing_. The air outside was crisp and biting earlier, the wind ripping through the bare trees on the street, howling and moaning at them as they ran for the warmth of Harry’s house.

‘I’m still cold, Harold,” Louis groans as he sips at a warm bowl of soup, and even though Harry has pushed the couch right up against the fireplace, as close as possible without the thing actually catching alight, and gifted Louis with his homemade chicken soup, the smaller boy cannot get warm.

“Surely that arse should keep you nice and toasy,” Harry teases, and Louis swats at him with a hand bundled in blankets, resembling an angry kitten, and Harry just pinches his cheek.

He’s already checked for a temperature, but it really just seems like Louis is terrible with the cold. He hops upstairs and grabs his warmest, wooliest sweater and comes bounding in to the living room, where Louis is cradling his soup in his fingers, absorbing the warmth, and his cobalt eyes are crackling with the reflection of the fire, and he is the true definition of fire and ice.

Harry takes Louis’ soup away, and Louis whines and makes grabby fingers, before Harry pulls the blankets off of him and dresses Louis in his sweater.

“It’s me leg that’s stuffed, not my arms, Harold,” Louis teases, and Harry just giggles and blushes, before returning Louis’ blankets and his soup. They sit together on the couch, Louis curled in to Harry’s side, his head leaning against his shoulder, Harry’s lips ghosting the feathery tips of Louis’ hair. They both sit in a comfortable silence, the crackle of the fire filling their ears, their minds thinking different thoughts, wandering to different places, and although they don’t know it, they're both thinking about each other, turning to face each other at the same time, and Harry smiles when green meets blue.


	10. Dark Pasts & Euphoria

Harry feels lonely.

He can't possibly, with a beautiful, feather-haired boy asleep next to him, his lips slightly ajar, his mouth releasing small snores, but he does.

Harry sighs and throws his arms above his head, closing his eyes and sighing deeply. He wants to go back to sleep, because sleep always solves everything, but he just can't. He groans quietly in frustration and turns over, burying his head in his pillow and moaning.

He hates these days, these days where he knows he's going to be upset, grumpy, and self-conscious. A day where every compliment feels like a stab to the stomach, where the smallest jokes can set you off immediately, a day where you can be surrounded by so many people but still feel alone. Yes, Harry hates these days.

He's itchy, and he wants to go to the bathroom, take a handful of his anxiety tablets to dull the feeling, but he got in trouble last time when something went wrong. He wants to shake Louis awake and tell him to make him feel better, take him out on a date that he's been promising to, anything, just to get him to be happy today.

Louis’ ankle is healing slowly, improving by the day, and Harry’s sure he's in good enough condition to take him on a date. Harry feels like a lost puppy trudging around behind his owner, waiting for a juicy bone. And Louis won't give him the damn bone.

He growls, which has nothing to do with his puppy analogy, and twists his body and punches his pillow to make it the slightest bit comfortable. Louis stirs, releasing a small noise from his throat, and Harry stills. He doesn't want to wake Louis up, because he knows it's early, judging by the sweet trickle of faint sunlight through the window, and he savours it because he knows it's going to disappear as the day goes on, when the dense, snow-filled clouds will cover the warmth, and besides, Harry knows exactly how grumpy Louis gets when he's woken up.

He climbs out of bed, stretching his body and sighing contently when his bones crack and his body wakes up. He makes his way to the kitchen, where he prepares a cup of steaming tea and retreats to his song room, grabbing his favourite acoustic guitar, his fingers gliding over the smooth wood that sets fire in his veins.

He grabs his brown leatherback journal and a pen that he clasps firmly between his unbrushed teeth, grimacing when he realizes his breath actually reeks quite badly. He shrugs it off and opens the window, settling down on the cushions of the windowsill, admiring the still city. The sun is low in the sky, bringing promises of sunlight, but Harry can see the treacherous clouds rolling in. He breathes in the air from outside, crisp and satisfying, and begins to strum.

He strums a melody he's never strummed before, a quiet trickle of music that makes Harry's heart speed up. His fingers work the strings as if he’s caressing his lover, his nimble fingers plucking and stroking with utmost care. He doesn't carry on with the song he wrote on the day of Louis’ accident, _Riptide_ , he's decided to call it, because this new sound is intriguing and Harry wonders what lyrics he can put to this song.

He closes his eyes and does exactly what he did the other day, but he imagines Louis as so much more. He envisions himself and Louis, cooped up in a large field, the only inhabitants besides a chorus of chirping birds and the soothing rustle of the wind against the foliage. They're lying on a mismatched blanket, one that his grandmother made him, and Louis is curled in to his side, his soft hair tickling Harry's nose. He's tracing the patterns of Harry's tattoos on his white shirt, the ink protruding through the thin material, and Harry's enveloped in a pure feeling of bliss, and immediately he puts lyrics to his feelings, lyrics of contrast and confusion and longing.

 

 

_Give me love like her,_

_'Cause lately I've been waking up alone,_

_Paint splattered teardrops on my shirt,_

_Told you I'd let them go._

He keeps strumming, wracking his brain for ideas and lyrics, getting in touch with his feelings and grabbing ahold of them. What startles him the most is that in his fantasy, he's the one holding Louis, not the other way around like it usually is. It's not the size difference, Harry realizes, but it's the fact that he's finally alright, and he can take care of someone else because he doesn't have to constantly worry and take care of himself.

_And that I'll fight my corner,_

_Maybe tonight I'll call ya,_

_After my blood turns into alcohol,_

_No, I just wanna hold ya._

_Give a little time to me or burn this out,_

_We'll play hide and seek to turn this around,_

_All I want is the taste that your lips allow,_

_My, my, my, my, oh give me love,_

_My, my, my, my, oh give me love,_

_My, my, my, my, oh give me love,_

_My, my, my, my, oh give me love,_

_My, my, my, my, give me love._

Harry is interrupted when he hears a thud, and he opens his eyes to see a meek-looking boy with fluffy bed hair and an apologetic smile on his face.

“I didn't mean to wake you,” Harry says earnestly, pointing to his guitar. “Couldn't sleep, thought I'd maybe play for a bit.”

“Harry, that song is lovely,” Louis admonishes, his cheeks red and eyes hazy from sleep. He steps forward tentatively, as if he's an animal stepping in to another's territory, and Harry pats the spot beside him on the windowsill.

Louis strides towards him with a slight limp and curls up in the other corner of the windowsill, looking incredibly soft and cuddly. He leans his head against the wall behind him, his shimmering blue eyes watching the open window, his tanned arms wrapped loosely around his knees that are tucked tightly against his chest. He looks thoughtful, and Harry can't help but stare at his features, the soft curve of his slightly-upturned lips, the sweep of his eyebrows, and the small arc of his nose.

Louis suddenly turns to Harry, his eyes glinting with amusement. “Were you just checking me out?”

“Maybe,” Harry whispers through parted lips.

“I don't blame you. I am quite irresistible,” he wiggles his eyebrows, his eyes creasing as he smiles. “Play something for me.”

Harry's cheeks turn red with all the blood rushing to his face, and he looks down at his hands that are twisting nervously together and he mumbles, “I'm not sure, I mean, I-I don't think it's such a good idea...”

“Anything. I'd like to hear what you've written,” Louis encourages him.

“I don't want to mess up in front of you,” Harry mumbles quietly.

Louis breathes deeply, and Harry's sure it's meant to be a sigh of exasperation, but then he scoots really close to Harry, so close that he can feel his breath hitting him on the ear and the heat emanating from his body. Louis cups the base of Harry's chin, and he's sure he's tickling Louis’ dainty fingers with the tiny bit of stubble there, but Louis doesn't seem to mind. He lifts Harry's face, tentative emerald eyes meeting strong, determined cobalt ones that make Harry's insides feel all sorts of funny things, and Louis dusts the pad of his thumb across Harry's lip, and he sucks in a breath, surprised.

“I don't want you feeling afraid of me, or afraid of messing up around me. I'm here for you, and I think it's adorable when you get flustered and mess up. I love the way you sing, and I want you to sing for me.”

Harry's mouth is dry, and he gulps down some saliva to try and soothe his nervousness. He loves it when Louis touches him like this; unexpectedly and carefully, and no matter how hard he tries, Harry can't get used to it, nor can he prepare himself for it.  

“I mean, I'm not sure what to sing, I guess,” Harry stutters and stumbles for words, because today is not his greatest day at all, he's feeling shitty and tremble-y, and the last thing he wants to do is sing in front of Louis.

“What's wrong, Haz? You've been so comfortable and happy these past few days, what's changed all of a sudden?” Louis, whom Harry loves and despises for being ever-observant, places his hand on the side of Harry's face.

“’M just not feeling good today, is all,” the curly-haired boy stammers, swallowing thickly. “I don't think you'll understand, really. It's weird, like, some days I don't feel good, and I can feel it when I wake up, and usually I'm fine after I sleep, but I can't sleep anymore, and I'm just not feeling good about myself today.”

Harry feels frustrated, because he's terrible at communicating his feelings, much less his thoughts, and no one has ever understood his babble when it comes to what he's experiencing, and it's made him feel upset and worthless, because what is he if he can't even explain something to a person? He purses his lips and knits his eyebrows together in concentration, trying to find a better way to explain it. 

“I get it,” Louis tries, surprising Harry. “It's like when you know that you're not looking your best, and you feel like everyone is staring at you and whispering about you, and you feel upset and miserable? Or like, when you just don’t feel like going out, and your friends make you, an they’re all looking better than you, and you just don’t want to be there?”

“That's exactly it!” Harry exclaims, a wave of relief washing over him. “No ones ever understood me before like that, not even my parents.”

“It's like your whole life you've just been waiting for me,” Louis smirks cheekily, and pats Harry on the cheek, in a quick succession of small slaps, making the taller boy crinkle his nose. “I still want you to sing for me.”

“Just,” Harry breathes, “Just, please be careful with me? Sometimes I get sad an I’m not sure why. I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay, Harold,” Louis smiles, his tongue poking out between his teeth. “We all have bad days, you’ll be okay, yeah?”

And maybe they’re not the most comforting words Harry’s ever heard, but Harry knows to some extent that Louis is terrible at dealing with these type of things, so he smiles back and lets his slide. As long as Louis can be there for him and gently nudge him when he's not feeling confident, give him a small kick in the right direction – he's sure that they’ll be okay.

Harry sighs, but he thinks he can do it because now Louis knows how he feels today, and won't make fun of him if his voice cracks or if he messes up his strumming. He closes his songbook, handing the worn leather to Louis. “Open it on a random page, and I'll sing that song.”

Louis closes his eyes, and makes a big deal out of picking the right page, and it makes Harry laugh and roll his eyes, but finally, with a dramatic slap to a cream-coloured page, Louis picks a song.

“Gone, Gone, Gone?” Louis eyes the title suspiciously, but Harry assures him it's an alright song, that’s more lovey dovey than depressing.

He picks up his guitar and breathes deeply, before playing the strings with a grace only he can, his eyes closing as his body absorbs each strum, each chord, each note that floats through the cool, white room.

 

_When life leaves you high and dry,_

_I'll be at your door tonight,_

_If you need help, if you need help._

_I'll shut down the city lights,_

_I'll lie, cheat, I'll beg and bribe,_

_To make you well, to make you well._

_When enemies are at your door_

_I'll carry you away from war_

_If you need help, if you need help._

_Your hope dangling by a string_

_I'll share in your suffering_

_To make you well, to make you well._

_Give me reason to believe,_

_That you would do the same for me._

Harry slowly opens his eyes, watching Louis watch him, and it's an endearing sight to behold. The song kicks up, and Harry strums while he slaps his guitar for the effect of a drum, the percussion instrument obviously absent, and he can't seem to tear his eyes away from Louis’ mesmerized ones as his voice becomes strong and rises.

_And I would do it for you, for you._

_Baby, I'm not moving on_

_I'll love you long after you're gone._

_For you, for you._

_You will never sleep alone._

_I'll love you long after you're gone_

_And long after you're gone, gone, gone._

Harry stops, even though there are many more verses, but his voice slowly diminishes and his fingers stop strumming, until it's silent in the room, the bustling traffic drowned out by the loudness in the gaze between the two boys. Both their lips are parted, their eyes searching one another's, and Harry's heart is pounding in his chest, like a bird repeatedly slamming in to a window, and he finds himself leaning closer and closer.

“Not yet, love,” Louis whispers, turning his face slightly and planting a soft, lingering kiss to Harry's blushing cheek.

Harry closes his eyes and sighs, because he doesn't know why Louis won't just kiss him again, and he's hoping silently that Louis isn't leading him on. He pulls his face away from Louis, grabbing his guitar and setting it back on its stand, his mood even sourer than this morning. He's kind of happy in a way, because Harry really needs to brush his teeth.

“Don't be like that, Haz. I just want it to be special, proper,” Louis whispers, sounding startlingly insecure.

“Isn't it special anyway enough because it's between you and me?” Harry snaps vehemently, immediately feeling terrible.

“I've never, um, done this before,” Louis admits, dropping his head, “Never done this whole relationship thing. I'm trying, I'm just going based off of what feels right and what I've seen in movies, really.”

Harry turns around, astonished, facing Louis with a puzzled stare. “Never? But you're like, so confident about it, and I'm like, not and even I've been in a relationship.”

“They were all hook ups and things,” Louis sighs, giggling softly. “I never thought I was boyfriend material well... Until I met you.”

Harry's heart is somersaulting in his chest, and his mouth is running dry all over again, and his hands are trembling, but he loves it all. He doesn't know what's about to happen, but that's the beauty of it. He hasn't got a single clue.

“You know what? Fuck it, I'm taking you out tonight, and it's going to be the best date ever,” Louis says determined, standing up and threading his fingers through Harry's.

“But your, um, foot,” Harry says dumbly.

“Screw it, it's fine. I can hobble. I've been wanting to do this for a while, Haz.”

Harry doesn't know what to say, his mouth is open as if he wants to speak, but his brain is completely dead except for the words _Louis is taking me out_ rushing through. He doesn't want to say that out loud, because he’ll look like a proper idiot, so he just keeps quiet and smiles really wide.

“Come on Lou, let's go get dressed and go to the coffee shop,” Harry suddenly blurts, his voice too loud, but he doesn't mind. “I feel like a coffee.”

In the next fifteen minutes, both boys are dressed; and Louis is in signature skinny jeans and loose grey sweater with a matching beanie, and Harry loves that sweater on Louis. Its cloudy like the sky outside and brings out the lightness in his cobalt eyes. His ankle is bandaged tightly beneath his jeans and his black vans. Harry is in his brown boots and black leather jacket, because he knows how much Louis likes him in it, and he really likes it too.   

They walk hand in hand, much to Harry's’ surprise, and he finds himself observing the familiar surroundings. Everything seems to be more beautiful, as if heightened by Louis’ presence. He doesn't see the sky as grey and dreary, but rather as a morbidly attractive blanket of darkened light. The leaves crunching below them make a satisfying crackle that Harry loves to listen to, and he finds himself humming as they stroll in a comfortable silence.

Harry sees the coffee shop looming up in the street, and Louis skips rather lopsidedly in front of him, and Harry knows it's because he's eager to see his grandmother. He loves the way he can communicate with Louis without words or sounds. He just knows.

He enters with a familiar ding of the door, like a parent running after their small child, and spots Louis chatting amicably with his grandmother, who has him in a tight hold and doesn't seem to be letting go.

“Oh Harry dear!” she calls, letting go of Louis and wrapping her frail arms around Harry. “Are you the one that's been stealing my grandson?”

“Apologies,” he smiles meekly, laughing nervously. “He’s an okay person, I guess.”

“Can I just interject,” Louis butts in, wrapping his arm around his grandmother's waist, “First of all, because this is my grandmother. Mine. You can't steal her with your good looks and charm. Secondly, I am God's gift to this world, and you shall treat me accordingly, peasant.”

“Oh hush, Lou!” Daisy giggles, slapping him playfully in the way that only grandmothers can do. “Go sit in your booth. I'll bring you two your favourites.”

They bid their thanks and retreat to their soft leather booth, sitting on opposites sides of each other. Harry gazes out the window as Louis apologizes and takes a phone call, watching life pass by before him.

Two girls walk past, chatting and laughing profusely, while a mother and her son walk past, her son dressed in bright pink shoes. Harry's face breaks out in to a heartfelt grin. The trees are sprawling out against the grey sky, looking thin and dainty like spiders’ legs. He wishes it would snow. He loves the snow.

“Earth to Harry,” he hears Louis voice pull him back to reality. “I know that girl is hot over there, but I'm just as sexy.”

“Sorry,” Harry mumbles, looking down to see his coffee ready and steamy on his table.

The steam hits him in the face, the welcoming and comforting aroma of coffee filling his nostrils and tantalizing his taste buds. He takes a sip, savouring the coffee and whipped cream, when Louis laughs.

“You've got something there,” he leans over and whispers softly, the pad of his thumb dusting over Harry's bottom lip, retrieving the excess whipped cream.

Louis looks at the cream, then back at Harry, their gaze locking. Louis brings the tip of his tongue out and licks it, almost seductively, before putting the rest of his thumb in his mouth.

Harry gulps.

“Something wrong?” Louis bats his eyelids, cocking his head to the side.

“N-nothing,” he stutters, looking down at his coffee.

Louis smirks, his full lips pulling up to reveal a sexy half smile that makes Harry even more uncomfortable. He shifts about, in a way he hopes is not noticeable, but judging the way Louis' eyes twinkle; he knows exactly what effect he has on Harry.

They sip their drinks and talk mindlessly, about nothing and everything, and Harry thinks that that's the most important thing about any relationship, friendly or romantic. He loves the fact that he can tell Louis that he cut his toe while cutting his toenails, or that when he was six he wanted to be like his cat and drink from the toilet, so he did.

He doesn’t explain that he had a special cat that did whatever the hell it wanted to, but Louis didn't ask. He was in shambles, his hand clasped against his stomach, his eyes crinkled in that adorable way, his mouth wide open and releasing guffaws of laughter.

“Please, tell me more about your childhood,” Louis is still laughing, but he manages to choke out the sentence.

Harry's smile falters, and he knows that Louis notices, because he stops laughing and coughs awkwardly, obviously realizing he's hit a sensitive spot.

“I mean, you don't have to...”

“No, I mean, it's okay,” Harry smiles weakly, his voice slowly dropping to a whisper. “I just don't want you to think I'm weird or a loser.”

“Oh Harry,” Louis smiles, “Silly, silly Haz. You're delusional. I mean, I already think you're weird, but a loser? Never.”

Harry blushes and laughs, because he loves how Louis is so calm and respectful (some of the time), and how he can turn almost anything in to a joke that makes Harry feel good about himself. He flicks Louis on the nose, causing him to crinkle it, and he looks absolutely adorable that Harry decides he has to do that every day for the rest of his life.

“Well, I mean, I didn't have many friends. About two, actually. My mum and dad were never really home. It was just Gemma, my sister, that I could really talk to. I was bullied as a kid, because no one ever wants to be friends with the quiet kid who's always whispering and doesn't like talking to people. They all thought there was something wrong with me, like I was autistic or retarded or something. I'm not though,” Harry adds, as if he's defending himself against an insult, “I'm not. My mum even took me to psychologists and doctors, but I'm normal. I swear it.”

“Hey, hey,” Louis says softly, stretching a tanned, thin hand to flatten across Harry's quivering one. “I believe you. Completely and utterly.”

Harry feels like he's back in his childhood, trying to prove to his mother with glossy eyes that there was nothing wrong with him. She'd always brush him off, saying that okay fine, there's nothing wrong with you, but for the sake of everyone around him, he'd ought to be checked out to make sure. He had never known what that meant, and he still doesn't, to an extent. Despite this, Harry loves his mother, and has fond memories of her. He’s sure that her harsh words were put there by his father.

“Anyway. So I had two friends. Katrina and Shane. They were so nice to me. Katrina was a goth, but she had the sweetest and kindest heart and always flashed her sharpened “fangs” at people when they were rude to me.”

“Classy,” Louis snorts, laying back, his arms crossed over his chest.

“Extremely. But it worked. People left me alone. Shane was always there when I needed a friend to talk to. This was all pre-hell. Also known as high school.”

“I can relate,” Louis mutters.

“They both moved schools, and I was left alone again. See the thing is about high school, is that kids will talk about you behind your back so much that it spreads across the school, and you only hear about it once it's gone viral. I hated high school. Everyone treated me like I was remedial, even the teachers. They said I must be autistic because I got such good marks, but had such poor social skills.”

“It was the worst when I got in to a relationship with this one girl. She was very popular, and I thought she was attractive, and I couldn't believe my luck when she started talking to me. I hadn't known I was bisexual back then, but that doesn't really matter. She was so demanding, though. Always wanting me to go out to parties with her and smoke and drink, and that's really not my scene. She even got me to snort coke.”

“Harry!” Louis squeaks, unable to comprehend what the emerald-eyed boy is saying.

(Louis obviously leaves out the part where his mates snort coke in front of him like its nothing.)

“It's true. I had the worst trip ever. I ended up stark naked in the corner of the bathroom, screaming and crying out. I saw things in my arms, in my body. Black, god-awfully deformed people that wouldn't leave. I scratched myself until I was bleeding out on to the floor, it was so bad.”

“ _Love_ ,” the word escapes out of Louis’ pink lips that are wide in astonishment, matching his eyes.

“So after that episode, we went to another doctor, who diagnosed me with social anxiety, and told me I had terribly high levels. Like you'll-die-of-a-heart-attack-at-forty bad. He told me the monsters I saw when I was tripping was my subconscious’ way of showing my fear of people. And I just spent the rest of high school avoiding people and the names they used to call me. I was a pretty broken up child.”

Louis is sitting up, his posture tense, his knuckles turning white as his hands clasp together. He looks angry. He's glaring at Harry, but the anger isn't directed at Harry. He knows it's directed at the girl who made his life hell, and everyone that ever called him names.

“I'm so ready to kill every single one of those people,” Louis practically growls, biting his bottom lip viciously.

_I'd like to do that to you._

Harry's eyes go wide at his provocative thoughts, but he knows he that he didn't speak aloud, because he still looks angry.

“That was quite depressing,” Harry laughs nervously. “I've accepted it all. It's my past. I'm just focusing on the future.”

“You don't deserve that. You didn't deserve any of that,” Louis says, his voice filled with regret, like he wishes he could've stopped it.

“You couldn't have done anything. I didn't even know you, love,” Harry chuckles, blushing when he realizes he's just called Louis _love_. He decides he'll just have to get used to it.

“Give me names and I'll set my goons on them,” Louis raises and wiggles his eyebrows, and Harry knows he's done being serious.

“Whatever, Lou.”

“Come on. I'm paying. Let's go back to your place and get ready for tonight, I have the best idea planned,” Louis grins lopsidedly, tracing circles on the top of Harry's hand.

“I want to pay,” Harry pouts, but Louis just slips the cash to the waitress and grabs Harry's hand as they walk out. “Hey Harry, just remember. Broken crayons still colour.”

 

˜

 

Things are flying everywhere.

Harry has been hit in the face with about three pairs of pants, four shirts and almost a boot (he dodged that one, luckily). He's sitting on the bed, his legs crossed and an animated grin on his face. He's watching tiny, tiny Louis dig through his closet, his arms hauling and throwing items of clothing in all different directions.

“You see, Harold, you need to dress fancy, but not too fancy, because I have some nitty-gritty stuff planned,” Harry hears Louis’ angelic voice, but he can't see him past the clothing flying through the air.

“Louis, you do realize I have to clean this mess up later on,” Harry utters, although his voice is filled with fond, and he finds that he really doesn't mind.

“Mhmm,” he responds, not interested in anything but the task at hand.

Louis is already dressed and ready for the date. He had driven back to Uni to grab his outfit, and Harry hadn't realized that he needed to get ready so soon as well. Louis found him curled on the couch with a cup of tea and a dramatic soapie on the telly. Louis sassed him beyond belief and hauled him upstairs, which brought on the current situation.

Truth be told, Harry was only doing to that to pass the time and calm his jittery nerves.

“These pants!” Louis yells so loud that it startles Harry, and before he knows it, a pair of black skinny jeans are slapping him across the face.

“I don't understand why it had to be these ones. I have so many pairs. You've just hit me in the face with about three of the same pants,” Harry complains, but eyes the several rips in the jeans that are somewhat different to the others.

“Because I like those, okay? Problem?”

“Nope.”

“Good. Now shut up.”

Harry bites his lip and resists the urge to laugh, but he can't help it when his mouth spreads in to a large grin, his teeth digging painfully in to his lip. He releases a snigger, and Louis stops and turns around, his eyebrows raised and his hand on his hip.

“Harold, would you like to inform me as to what you're smirking at? It would be most helpful.”

“You're so cute when you’re sassy,” Harry half-smiles, his eyes sparkling with adoration.

“You don't mind it? I'm sorry, this is really how I usually am, people get seriously frustrated cause like, I don’t really know how to be serious,” Louis trails off, his eyes gleaming and looking extremely insecure.

“Not at all! I find it extremely amusing. I didn't know you had this much energy in you,” Harry comments, and he can't look Louis in the eye, because the sad look he has is too much for him to bear.

“This isn't really a side,” Louis divulges quietly. “This is really how I am. Sarcastic and like, never really serious.”

“And I love it.”

Harry will look back on this conversation and his encouraging words, and shake his head solemnly.

Louis seems satisfied with Harry's answer, because he shuts off his vulnerability and insecurities in a flash, and his face is concealing his emotions once more with a sassy smirk and shining blue eyes. He returns to shifting through Harry's closet, more carefully this time, and eventually Harry is in the bathroom, staring at his reflection.

“Wow,” Louis inhales when he opens the door unexpectedly, his eyes wide as he surveys Harry, his lip wedged between his teeth.

Harry is clad in the black ripped jeans, his thighs curving in all the right places. Louis has put him in a sleeveless, maroon-checkered shirt that makes his tattoos stick out and his biceps bulge slightly. He grabs the leather jacket next to him, the one he knew Louis was going to pick out, and slips it on. His hair is in a carefully styled quiff, the rest of his curls dwindling down the sides of his face. His skin is clear (for once) and his eyes are bright with anticipation. He feels good.

“I didn't know I could look like this,” Harry whispers, his reflection staring back at him with a look of confusion.

“I did,” Louis murmurs, coming to stand next to him in the mirror.

Louis is wearing similar black skinny jeans, and Harry's jaw almost dropped open earlier when he caught a look at Louis’ flawlessly rounded bum. He's got a snowy tank top on with a ripped denim jacket on top. He's still wearing his favourite black vans, and Harry hopes he has his ankle guard on.

“We'd make a good looking couple,” Harry blurts, red filtering in to his cheeks.

“That we would,” Louis acknowledges. “Come away, peasant, for the king needs pleasing and tonight promises to be a night of exactly that.”

“As you wish,” Harry leers, winking at Louis, before exiting the bathroom, Louis trailing behind.

Louis insists on driving, waving Harry away when he mentions his ankle. Harry sighs and climbs gingerly in to the passenger seat, flopping against the leather as he watches Louis climb in. Harry has no idea where they're going, but knowing Louis, it's probably something extravagant and over the top, or special and reserved. Harry hasn't got a clue which one it is, but he knows that there's no in between.

They drive in comfortable silence, The Fray murmuring away in the background; while Harry turns to watch the beauty of nature outside. They've been driving for about twenty minutes, and they're out of the bustling, bright city and he's watching trees and fields whip past him in a blur. The clouds are unusually thin, and Harry can see the bright oranges and pinks that are painted in to the late-afternoon sky, swirls of magical colours that leave Harry in awe. The sun is setting quickly, and the sky is slowly shifting in to smudges of indigos and lilacs.

“Where are we going?” Harry can't resist asking, like a small child, his eyes wide and pleading with Louis to tell him.

“I can't really say. We could be going to Narnia for all I know,” Louis answers dramatically, his eyes rolling.

“Please tell me you know where we're going, and we're not going on some wild drive to the middle of nowhere? There are strange people out here, Lou,” Harry mumbles, anxious.

“My great-aunt Tessa was a cannibalistic hillbilly, but that has nothing to do with the fact that she lived in the middle of nowhere.”

“Lou- _isss_ ,” Harry drawls, poking his arm.

“I'm kidding, okay? I know exactly where we're going, and we're only about five to ten minutes away,” Louis voice is softer, more careful now, and he places his free hand on Harry's thigh.

His fingers are soft and gentle, reminding Harry that he doesn't have to do anything that he doesn't want to. But he wants this. He loves the feeling of Louis’ hand pressed against his thigh, his fingers nipping and tugging at the rips absent-mindedly. His thumb starts to softly trace circles near his inner thigh, and Harry's breath catches and he shivers.

Louis seems to notice and stop, but Harry’s disappointed, because he actually quite liked the feeling. He's so tempted to ask Louis to do it again, but he knows he would look silly and Louis would probably laugh at him. 

Harry lies back in his seat, his head lolling to the side as he watches the darkening sky. Finally, they come to a clearing that's been lit up, with a few large, hot-air balloons on the ground, and a few cars parked in a makeshift parking area that’s all dust and dirt.

“We're going hot-air balloon riding? Oh my god,” Harry almost screeches with glee, because he's always wanted to do this, and no one has ever taken him before.

“That we are, Harold,” Louis looks uncertain for a second, “Do you want to?”

“There is nothing I want more in this world right now that going on one of those,” Harry gestures excitedly to the colourful balloons, “with you.”

Louis’ cheeks redden, and Harry loves how cute he looks, and he leans over in a sudden rush of confidence and kisses Louis’ cheek. Louis nips at his lip to keep from smiling, but his eyes are glistening in the darkening light, and he caresses Harry's cheek with his thumb. “Come on, love. Don't want to miss it, now do we?”

Louis interlocks their fingers as they walk, trying subtly to lean on Harry for support, but Harry notices. He disentangles their fingers and wraps his arm around Louis’ waist, and he can feel Louis’ relief when he sinks in to Harry's side.

“You really shouldn't be on that ankle,” Harry whispers to Louis as they walk through the field, the icy grass crunching beneath their feet.

“I know. But it's worth it to see this,” Louis admits softly. “Always anted to see the view from up there.”

They walk towards a small stall that’s set up a few metres away from the actual balloons, minor compared to the large material that’s ready to be blown up. Louis pays for their ride, smiling down and thanking the lady. Harry knows these things are frightfully expensive, and he plans to sneak the money back in to Louis’ wallet after he's fallen asleep tonight.

It's dark now, the light almost gone completely, but there are lanterns that are set up along the edges of the field, lighting up the small stretch of land, succeeding in making the balloons look even more endearing.

“This is beautiful, Lou,” Harry gushes as they near their balloon.

An old, burly man with a balding head and wrinkles smiles at them and shakes both their hands firmly.

“The name's Jack,” he grumbles politely in a thick Irish accent. “I'll be takin’ ye’ up tonight.”

“I'm Louis and this is Harry,” Louis introduced them smoothly, but Harry feels shy and oddly intimidated.

“Say hi, love,” Louis urges quietly with patience and care.

Harry feels like a shy kid hiding between the legs of his mother, but he strangely doesn’t mind the babying. It’s not necessarily making him feel smaller, he knows it’s just a small push from Louis’ side to get him to overcome his fear of meeting people for the first time.

Harry looks up to meet the gaze of the smiling man, and grins meekly, mumbling a quick “nice to meet you,” before ducking slightly behind Louis as they climb on board, and despite his much taller, lankier figure, he feels safe behind Louis.

The basket holding them is made of thick, woven wood, with sandbags attached to the sides. It's quite spacious, bigger than Harry imagined, and he's sure they could easily fit another three or four people on.

The balloon itself manifests in to a large, colourful cloud that slowly begins to pull them up. Harry watches how the flame used to lift them lights the balloon up, scintillating yellows and reds and blues dancing across his vision.

They begin to lift in to the air as Jack begins to drop the sandbags one by one, and Harry is standing close to the end, his eyes wide and drinking in as much detail as he can. The lanterns beneath them look like small specks of light, and when Harry gazes up in front of him, he's mesmerized.

The city is all around them, the glittering lights flickering against the opaque night sky. He can see the immense buildings as dark shapes against the city lights, and the large trees as mere shadows in the distance. The whole image looks as if it belongs in a professional photograph or postcard. He sucks in a breath of crisp, cold air that makes him feel wide-awake.

“What do you think?” Louis’ soft kitten voice breaks through that of the air balloon and Harry's thoughts.

Harry swivels around and captures Louis in his hold, bringing his smaller body in front of his. Harry wraps his arms around Louis’ waist and holds him tightly against his larger frame. Louis’ hands grip at Harry's icy ones, warming them and sending a flush of an unfamiliar feeling through him.

“This makes me feel so...alive Lou. You haven't any idea. I'm so happy right now. I-I feel free and on top of the world,” Harry tries to explain, his face breaking out in a grin as the harsh, cold air whips at his face.

“I love seeing you like this. So happy,” Louis whispers in Harry's ear.

Louis turns around in Harry's grip, his fingers slithering to grip the back of Harry's icy-cold, leather jacket. Louis fresh cologne filters through his nostrils, smelling of sandalwood and musk. Harry loves it.

Harry's shy, wild emerald eyes meet Louis’ anticipating cobalt ones, his large hands gently cupping Louis’ flushed, tanned face. His lips part instinctively, his tongue darting out to wet his lips, and he can see Louis suck in a shocked breath. Harry's waited so long for this exact moment, and what a perfect moment it will be. It’s just the two of them, soaring above the ordinary, above all their problems and insecurities. As long as they're up here, nothing matters anymore.

Harry leans forward, his breath fanning across Louis’ face, and it's foggy from the cold, but they don't care.

“And down we go boys!” Jack's gruff voice breaks their trance, and Harry jumps back in shock, shaking his head and resisting the urge to slap Jack across the face.

He meets Jack's eyes with a thin-lipped smile, and Jack just winks and him and laughs, before pulling levers and Harry can feel them beginning to descend.

He doesn't look back at Louis and try to revive their ruined moment, but rather catches the last few minutes of twinkling city lights as they begin to disappear behind the tall trees that surround the field. 

When they're finally on solid ground again, they thank Jack and head back towards the car.

“Way to ruin a moment,” Louis grumbles, “I should have my servants chop his head off.”

“Do you have some sort of secret fantasy about being a king or something?” Harry asks innocently, shoving Louis playfully.

“I'll tell you what, Harry,” Louis comes closer, his lips brushing Harry's ear, “it's a kink of mine.”

Harry freezes, his heartbeat kicking up as he sucks in a breath, his jaw dropping open marginally. Louis is knows for his raunchiness, but he always catches Harry off-guard, and Harry's been having images, very bad ones, swirling through his head, ever since Louis has come in to his life.

“Oh darling, sweet, innocent Harold,” Louis laughs, pulling on his ear, “I'm only joking. But your reactions are priceless.”

“Dick,” Harry murmurs, releasing a breath.

“Excuse me? Do you want me to spank you for being naughty?”

“ _Louis_!” Harry does nothing to hide his mortification.

“Okay, okay. I'm done. Promise.”

“Good. Thank you again for the ride, Lou.”

“That's what she said...”

“Go to church on Sunday!” Harry yells as he runs towards the car.

“Oooh, church, I like the idea of that. Getting dirty in a holy place,” Louis wiggles his eyebrows, and it has Harry in stitches, his body sliding down the slippery metal of the car, his arse hitting the ground with a hard knock.

“Oh my god, _stop_!” He pants through his laughter, and Louis had to haul him off of the floor and push him in to the car.

“Come on. I have more things to show you. Our date isn't quite over yet.”

Louis drives them through the darkness for about half an hour, and Harry gets excited all over again when he rolls down the window and smells the fresh scent of salty water. Harry can't see, because Louis has blindfolded him, to “add to the romantic atmosphere and such”, but all it's done is provoke Louis’ _Fifty Shades of Grey_ jokes and frankly, Harry’s stomach has never hurt so much from laughing.

Louis stops the car, and Harry hears him leaving, before he feels his own car door being pulled open, and a warm arm curling around his body, lifting him out of the car. Louis pressed a tiny kiss behind his ear, and it makes Harry shiver.

“Stand still,” Louis murmurs, pressing Harry against the car with his body.

He feels Louis slither down his body, and he's becoming increasingly suspicious (not to mentioned slightly aroused) until he feels Louis’ fingers pulling at the zipper on his boots, and he pulls off Harry's shoes.

“Well that was anti-climatic,” Harry huffs jokingly. “I thought a steamy session on the beach was in order. All you wanted was to blindfold me and steal my shoes.”

“You've caught me out, Styles. I apologize. You're just too smart for me,” Louis laments dramatically, his cold and bitter fingers linking with Harry's.

Harry's feet dig in to freezing sand, and he can feel Louis grab his shoulder to lift himself up and pull off the blindfold. Harry's blinks and looks down; Louis is barefoot as well, an ankle guard strapped tightly around his petite foot, with feet that are buried in mounds of sand.

Harry looks up, and a trail of sandbags with candles stuck in them carve a path in the sand, the lights illuminating the beach around them. It's very dark, considering that the moon is hidden behind thick clouds. Louis takes Harry's hand and leads him along the makeshift path, until they come to a mattress with several blankets and a picnic basket set up.

“Who did this all? I mean, the candles would've blown out by now if you'd done it earlier,” Harry asks, mystified.

“Niall,” Louis admits sheepishly. “Knowing him, he's probably hiding in the bushes somewhere here.”

Harry and Louis settle down on the mattress, draping blankets across themselves and open the picnic basket. Harry's stomach growls fervently. He hadn't realized how hungry he actually is after all the excitement of tonight.

Louis has chicken-mayo baguettes and slices of roast beef set out, as well as salty crackers, salmon and blocks of cream cheese. Harry hastily grabs a baguette and cuts it in half, eagerly biting on the delicious bread.

“Hungry?” Louis laughs, raising an eyebrow.

“Wery,” Harry mumbles through his food, ignoring how unattractive he probably looks.

Louis will take it or leave it.

Harry turns to look at the ocean in front of them, the water gently lapping at the sand, leaving small bits of froth in its wake. Harry wishes the moon was out, because then the dark oceans would be laced with a shimmering light, just like Louis’ eyes.

“Penny for your thoughts?” Louis murmurs in Harry's ear once they're done eating.

Harry lies down, his arms thrown back behind his head as a makeshift pillow, and sighs comfortably. “I was just thinking about how the ocean looks like your eyes.”

Louis seems stunned, and a little speechless, and Harry's sure that someone must have said something like that to him before. They must've compared his eyes to a cloudless day, or the shimmer on the edge of the ocean's waves.

“Come here,” Harry whispers, grabbing Louis and snuggling him close to his body.

Louis shifts and pulls Harry in to his side instead, despite their size difference, his right arm tucked under Harry's head and his left tracing circles on Harry's stomach. Harry's arm is thrown over Louis’ torso, and they lie in a comfortable silence, tracing and rubbing and massaging each other's cold skin. He loves how he's slowly adapted to Louis, how comfortable he's able to feel in the smaller boy’s presence.

“What's your biggest fear, Harold?” Louis inquires quietly, his fingers clasping the fabric of Harry’s shirt in a loose fist.

“My biggest fear? Hmm. I need to think about that. I tend to worry about a lot of things,” Harry snorts lightly. “What about you?”

“My biggest fear is probably...living a life where I'm not happy,” Louis states thoughtfully, his voice laced with the faintest traces of pain. “Don’t wanna be stuck in a dead-end job with a partner I can barely stand and kids that I want to constantly get away from.”

Harry’s startled at Louis’ revelation, because its not often that Louis talks about these things that affect him inside. He lets Louis’ words swirl in his head, thinking about his own fears in life.

“Mine is probably the fear of not being good enough,” Harry bites his lip.

“You? Mr Harold...what's your middle name again?” Louis demands, sitting up, the faint flickers of the sandbag candles catching the highlights of his face.

“Edward.”

“You, Mr Harold Edward Styles, are one of the most “good-enough” people I have ever met. My English skills used to construct that sentence must be ignored in these circumstances, but you are. You are the kindest, most thoughtful boy I've met, and although you're troubled and scared of the world, I think that's adorable and one of the most amazing traits about you. And don't even get me started on the way you look and the way people look at you. You are so handsome, and have such a welcoming aura about you that it's so hard to stay away. You've turned my life upside down every since you looked at me with those sad, puppy dog eyes that day in the café and asked about why I was so upset the next. Harold, I think it's safe to say that you're one of the most perfect people I have ever met.”  

Harry's heart is hammering in his chest and his eyes are watering and his lips are quivering. He's never heard anyone make such a heartfelt speech about him, and his insides are exploding from the passion in Louis’ words and the fierceness in his eyes. Louis honestly believes Harry is something near perfect. He believes this, despite Harry’s obvious, and rather astounding, flaws. Louis has overlooked every single one of them, and come to the conclusion that Harry’s an amazing person. He knows he may not believe it himself, but hearing it from one of the most important people in his life, it means the world.

Harry looks up at Louis, wiping away the stray tear that's escaped his eye, and sits up abrubtly, wrapping his arms around Louis and hugging him tighter than he's ever hugged anyone before.

Louis wraps his arms around Harry's neck, squeezing tightly and burying his face in Harry's shoulder. All that is Louis envelops Harry’s senses; his heavenly scent, the feel of his body pressed against Harry's, the feathery hair that's tickling his nostrils, and the tight grip Louis has on Harry's leather jacket.

“That's the nicest thing anyone has ever said about me,” Harry mumbles in to Louis’ neck, his lips touching Louis’ suddenly-hot skin. “I just want someone to care about me, you know?”

“I. Care. About. You. So much it worries me, Harold. When will you see that?” Louis breaks out of Harry's hold, straddling Harry's lap as he cups Harry's cheeks with his slender, gentle fingers.

And for the second time that night, their gazes lock and Harry can't help himself. He leans forward, finally meeting Louis’ lips with his own, a sensation of relief and complete anticipation flooding through him.

Louis’ lips begin to move quickly against Harry's, both moist and so very cold. They're both smiling, and the kiss is messy because of it, but they're laughing and it's so beautiful that Harry is resisting the urge to cry all over again. They both fall down to lie flat on the mattress, their bodies joining together in a tangle of limbs and arms, the sound of the waves mixing with the giggles of the two boys.

Louis climbs on top of Harry, his body perfectly flat against the taller boy, his tongue poking in to his warm, smooth mouth. Harry bites down on Louis’ lip, earning a low groan from Louis’ mouth. Harry places his arms on Louis’ hips, his fingers digging in to the flesh there, pulling Louis down on top of him. Harry wants to feel every inch of Louis as they kiss. He wants to savour this moment of pure passion between the two boys, this moment where everything changes.

Louis burrows his fingers in Harry's mop of curls, tugging gently on the roots, causing Harry to buck his hips and moan deeply. Harry and Louis’ lips are still bound, slipping and sliding together in a lock of passion.

“God Louis,” Harry whines, placing a hand on Louis’ neck and pulling him closer to his mouth, “ _Lou_.”

Louis breaks away from Harry's mouth, trailing kisses down his neck, sucking and licking love bites in to his skin. “Want people to know you're mine. Want them to know that the most gorgeous boy ever belongs to me.”

Harry can't help himself anymore. He releases a sob of joy that Louis mistakes for a cry of pain, and stops immediately. “Love, what's wrong?”

“I'm so stupid,” Harry laughs, wiping his eyes. “I've just waited so long for this, and I'm such an emotional person, but I never thought that when I saw you that first time in the coffee shop that this would ever happen. I thought I was kidding myself that a sex-god like you would ever fall for me.”

“Consider me fallen, Harold,” Louis whispers, kissing away Harry's salty tears. “I'm falling like Lucifer fell from heaven, Harry. He found his happiness in hell, and however twisted this analogy may be, I've found my happiness in you.”

Harry blesses the day that Louis decided to major in English.

“R-Really?” Harry stutters softly.

“Really. As long as I'm with you, any hell will feel like heaven.” 

Harry has never seen Louis so open, so vulnerable, with all his cards laid out for Harry to see. It's an endearing sight to behold, Harry thinks, Louis Tomlinson with his heart completely exposed, his feelings out and his infatuation subjected. Louis is here for Harry to whisk away. 

“Louis,” Harry breathes, unsure of what to say.

“You'll be mine too, won't you Harry?” Louis whispers, his breathing erratic.

Harry looks up, watching Louis. He's leaning on top of him; his quiff disordered and droopy from kissing, his featherlight hair falling in to his eyes. His perfectly blue eyes, the eyes that made Harry fall so hard in the first place.

Harry leans up and kisses Louis softly, their lips not moving at all, just a soft, serene peck before Harry breaks away. “There's nothing I want more right now than to be yours.”

Louis throws his head back and laughs, a loud sound that sounds like ringing bells to Harry. He stands up, pulling Harry up with him, and throws himself in Harry's arms. Harry picks him up and Louis wraps his legs around Harry's waist, kissing him fervently.

“Oh Harold, it would take a thousand and more words to describe what you do to me.”

“Louis? I think someone's coming,” Harry giggles, elated and high on the feeling of Louis.

Louis turns and sees the shadow trudging through the sand in the distance, and turns back to Harry. “Let them see. I want the world to know that I have Harry Styles in my arms.”

“Correction, Harry Styles has you in his arms.”

“If you wanna be a smart arse you can walk home,” Louis beams against his neck.

Harry drops Louis, holding him close to his body, his lips pressed against his hair as Louis sighs deeply.

Harry observes as the figure come closer though, and he can see in the man's facial features that there's some sort of recognition sparking in them. The man's eyes suddenly widen, and his lips part and Harry sees him suck in a breath.

“Louis?” he squeaks, dropping his shoes.

Louis stops smiling and swivels around, his body tensing.

“Nick?”


	11. Thin Ice

Harry doesn't exactly know what's happening, but judging by whoever Nick is and his nervous stance, and Louis’ tense, rigid body that has tightened around him, he knows something is very wrong.

Harry twirls Louis’ chestnut hair around his long, nimble fingers, massaging his warm scalp softly to ease his distress, and give himself something to do in the intense, asphyxiating silence. He doesn’t think it’s his place to say anything, and besides, he's terrible at meeting people for the first time.

Harry had once been so nervous, he had spluttered a few times, before blurting out a horrifying joke about midgets. He will never repeat it.  

“What are you doing here?” Louis’ voice is cleverly laced with disdain, his voice several octaves lower. He sounds quite threatening, and it makes Harry’s heart stutter.

“I take walks here every night,” Nick answers quickly, sounding like he needs to prove himself. “I didn't know you came here.”

Harry tries to focus on anything but the awkward conversation and the tense atmosphere, thick as a blanket of smoke above their heads, and the way it makes him feel claustrophobic. He watches the dark water lap at the shore, leaving the sand a shade darker in its wake. He listens to the constant, comforting buzz of the insects at night, a loud shrill that pierces his ears, but not in the uncomfortable and stifling way that the roar of crowds does. He gazes at the murky moonlight straining through the dense clouds, too weak to touch the sand. He drowns out Louis and Nick's conversation, but he can hear Louis’ sharp tone of voice and it kind of scares Harry. He trains his eyes on the glimmering lights of the city, a blurry, straight line behind the lining of the sand dunes at the top of the beach.

When Harry tunes back in, Nick looks like a puppy that has been ridiculed, his head bowed low and his body stiff. Louis is still wrapped around Harry, and he's loosened around him a bit, but Harry can feel Louis’ muscles twitching, and his jaw clenching against his chest, and Harry knows he's still angry.

“I'm Harry,” he blurts quickly, his deep, too-loud voice breaking the silence of the night. “I don't believe we've been introduced.”

Nick looks taken aback and slightly ragged, his quiff scruffy, probably from running his fingers through it one too many times, and he has frown lines near the corners of his mouth and his eyes. “I'm Nick. Louis and I are-”

“Friends from Uni,” Louis cuts in tersely. “Not even friends. Ex-acquaintances if you will.”    

“Lou-”

“No, don't Nick,” Louis looks hurt and frankly, tired. “Please just go. Or we'll go. Just please.”

“No, Louis. I'll leave. It's okay,” Nick says, grabbing his sand-ridden shoes and hobbling through the sand, his body sagging.

Harry swears he hears Louis say something like “last time” but he can't make out the rest of the sentence. Louis releases Harry a little and blinks harshly, before opening his eyes and smiling brightly at Harry. Harry gets the sense he's being lied to, but he's not going to question Louis. It's not his place, and frankly, he doesn't think Louis is going to tell him the truth in any case.

Harry's also noticed that Louis doesn't show his emotions. He's hardly ever vulnerable, and when he is, he looks away for a second or two, or closes his eyes, and just like that, he's got this mask on in the form of shimmering cobalt eyes and a dazzling dimpled smile. Harry tries to ignore the way his beautiful eyes appear oddly empty when this happens.

“Well, Mr Styles, would you care to continue this date with me? I fancy getting back in that blanket, because I'm sure I don’t want to die from hypothermia. It’s too cliché for me, really.”

“Like how _Titanic_ references are?” Harry smirks don at Louis.

“Exactly, Harold. However, they cannot be cliché if they come from my mouth.”

Harry hasn't realized it, but his body is shaking with the cold. The bitter wind is tearing harshly at his face, leaving his nose numb, and he's sure it's red as well. He smiles shyly back at Louis and cuddles up with him in the blanket once more, his arm draped across Louis’ torso, and Louis’ head laying on his other arm.

“It sucks that we can't see the stars,” Louis huffs, squinting really hard, as if it will clear the clouds and leave behind the bright twinkling lights.

“You're every bit like a star,” Harry whispers, fascinated, as he stares at Louis’ face.

Louis turns to look at him, and Harry isn't sure if he's blushing from his compliment or red from the cold, but he's got this sexy half-smile on his face that makes Harry's insides swirl.

“Is that so, Harold?”

“It is. You shine, like a lot. And you make me happy. Ah, fuck it. I'm not good with words.”

“You make me happy too,” Louis murmurs, tracing Harry's lips with the pad of his thumb. “And that's a very nice description of me. Thank you. And I like the way you word things. It's unique. And kinda cute.”

Harry leans forward out of impulse, because he can now, because they're together, they belong to each other, and he doesn't have to resist the urge every time he wants to kiss Louis. Not anymore, and the feeling is probably one of the most overwhelming he's felt tonight.

Their lips connect in a soft, passionate kiss that leaves Harry breathless and his lips swollen. Louis stares back at him with droopy eyes and a dreamy grin.

“And I like you, Lou.”

 

The boys spend another two hours or so underneath the warm blankets, clinging to each other and pressing chaste kisses to each other's flushed and inflamed lips. And while lying underneath the opaque, murky moonlight, listening to the waves gently lap at the shore, Harry knows now what the true meaning of perfection is.

Louis has been slightly off from his encounter with Nick, and Harry's dying to ask why, to ask what really happened between them, but Harry knows Louis isn't comfortable talking about it, as he is with many other things Harry has asked about.

Harry is a naturally curious boy, and his mother used to tell him that, “curiosity killed the cat”, and at the time he cried for several days because he thought that every time he pried in to other people’s business, a cat would die somewhere. His mother sat him down after a week of sudden outburst of tears and told him it was just an expression, and he was very embarrassed. He was only seven, after all. And he did love cats.

But sitting here, his arms wrapped around this perfect boy with his chestnut, pixie hair and his entrapping blue eyes, he decides that maybe he doesn't want to know, and maybe Louis doesn't want to tell him for some unknown reason, and he'll accept that. For now, at least.

“What're you thinking about, Haz?” Louis’ soft and feathery voice breaks through his thoughts and the rush of the icy wind in his ears.

Harry turns to look at Louis, their ankles tangled and Harry's arm thrown lightly over Louis’ torso as they sit on their sides and stare at each other. Harry doesn't think he’ll ever get used to the gleam in Louis’ eyes, or the way his quiff lazily falls in to his face when he's rubbed his fingers through his hair, or the way his eyes crinkle when he laughs really hard.

“You,” Harry murmurs softly, tracing the outline of Louis’ sharp, defined cheekbones. “And how you're just so beautiful.”

Harry, even in the weak light, can see Louis’ cheeks flame and Louis giggles adorably, hiding his face in the crook of Harry's arm, and Harry can feel Louis’ smile against the fabric of his leather jacket.

“Stop it, Harry,” Louis’ voice is muffled by the leather in front of his lips. “You're going to make me die of embarrassment. We’ve been together for a handful of hours and you’re already being cheesy.”

“This is nothing compared to the thoughts in my head. I'm always thinking about your soft, bright eyes. They're my favourite shade of blue,” Harry says earnestly, cupping Louis’ chin and smiling deeply when he stares in to Louis’ shining, cobalt eyes.

“You're _so_ cheesy, like seriously,” Louis murmurs, his lips forming a parted, soft smile that Harry cannot resist kissing.

“This is not even cheesy. In my head it's like cheesiness level a thousand,” Harry smirks, his palms pressed flush against Louis’ cheeks.

“You know, love, I've been thinking about this day for a while. What I would say to you, what would happen afterwards,” Louis whispers, and Harry feels weirdly honored because this is Louis letting his guard down for a second.

He doesn't want to lose this moment, because Harry knows that with Louis it's hardly ever that he gets to see Louis’ defenseless side, a side that Harry wants to nurture and care for. He curls his fingers in to Louis’ messy quiff, pulling on it ever so slightly and connecting their lips in a soft embrace. He moves them leisurely, zealously against Louis’, for maybe the tenth time that night, but he doesn't care. He's drunk on Louis’ kisses, his body high and fluttering as if he were a bird soaring through the sky. He can feel the thrum of his heartbeat through every inch of him, a fire burning in his veins fueled by adoration and fondness. Louis is kerosene, and Harry is a lit match, waiting to be doused.

“You must know I'd say yes,” Harry says finally when they pull their lips apart, soft breaths of fog mingling between their mouths as they catch their breaths. “After my declaration that night of the after party. You wanna know something?”

Louis looks pained. “Okay?”

“That was one of the worst nights of my life, seeing you and that model. Like... it's when I finally lost hope in you.”

It's silent for a moment on the deserted beach, and the soft chirping of insects, like background music in a movie, is constantly twanging behind them. Louis looks down for a second, sighing quietly, before meeting his eyes with Harry again.

“Baby... I didn't want to make you feel that way. I mean, I struggle to decipher feelings and stuff, I mean...” Louis trails off, his eyebrows knitted together in frustration. “I can't like, explain it, but I wasn't sure if what I was feeling for you was like, real I guess. And I was pretty drunk, so like, that model was pretty appealing at the time-”

Louis stops himself when Harry's face falls, “No, no. Not anymore, love. Appealing in the sense of like, a good one night stand or something. You, on the other hand, are honestly one of the most beautiful people I've ever met, Haz. I love your eyes.”

Louis traces Harry’s crimson cheeks. “They're like a rich forest in the morning, with like, early morning sunlight shining through the trees. And your body is so long, and your legs run on for miles, and you're so lanky and stuff. So beautiful.”    

Louis keeps repeating “so beautiful” under his breath as he kisses Harry's hot, blush-ridden face, his soft lips moving down to caress his neck. He pulls Harry's shirt lightly to the side and trails his tongue ever so lightly across his collarbones, and dips it in to the groove of them, before biting. Harry stifles a moan, but Louis trails his fingers down Harry's torso, his nimble fingers lifting Harry’s shirt and tugging lightly at Harry's garden path. Harry moans properly now, and Louis giggles against his neck, sending warm shivers through Harry.

“I like your moan, you know.”

“I like your bum.”

“Everyone does, dear Harold.”

“Yeah, but I matter more than everyone.”

“That you do, Harold, that you do.”

 

 Harry and Louis decide to go back to Harry's place after they're both too cold to stay outside. Harry shivers uncontrollably in the passenger's seat, his body wound up tightly and squished together in the cold leather chair. Louis has the heat blasting, but it's taking forever to seep in to Harry's bones.

Louis looks over at Harry and frowns slightly, before reaching in to the back and grabbing two of the fluffy blankets the boys lay in mere minutes ago. Harry curls himself in to the fuzzy material, breathing a long sigh of relief as his body stops shivering.

“Thank you, Lou,” he murmurs, pressing his red and cold nose in to the blanket.

“Yeah, going out at night in almost-winter was probably terrible planning on my part,” Louis admits, his eyes crinkling as he smiles. “Sorry about that.”

“It's okay,” Harry chortles, burying deeper in to his cocoon of warmth. “I loved it. Best night of my life.”

“I was hoping you'd say that,” Louis’ smile is soft and heartwarming, and it seems to flood Harry with the much needed heat that he craves.

Louis’ hand sneaks under the blankets and rests on Harry's knee, staying there for the duration of the drive. Harry can feel every finger pressing in to his skin, every soft caress, and every gentle squeeze. Harry's senses are on high alert, Louis’ presence heightening his them, and suddenly, he can feel everything.

“How's your ankle?” Harry asks softly once they're in warm pajamas and lying in Harry's bed.

Louis mumbles tiredly, sighing and turning on his side, his small fist holding a bundle of Harry's fluffy sheets hostage. “It's good. Little sore. But ’s good.”

Harry chuckles deeply at Louis and his tiredness, and runs his fingers through the wisps of Louis’ slightly curly, very-fuzzy hair. Louis sighs deeply and curls up even closer to Harry. Harry pulls the duvet over them, the shuffling of the fabric disturbing the peaceful night.

Harry feels good about himself tonight. Tonight, he is strong. Louis doesn't have to cuddle him, doesn't have to stretch so that as much of his body covers Harry's so that he feels protected. No, tonight, Harry is protective rather that protected. And it feels oddly amazing. Harry didn't know that these emotions would bring such change to the way he is. It feels good to feel remotely confident about himself. He looks down at the tiny frame of a body latching on to him, at the thick, pink lips that are slightly parted. He looks at the swoop of Louis’ eyebrows, the intense shape of his cheekbones. Harry observes Louis now, out in the open, because Louis and him are connected in the best way possible, and he doesn't have to hide his admiration anymore. Harry thinks that that feeling overrides the feeling of being the protector.

He lies awake for a little longer, his mind strangely silent, and his head replaying the night. Harry's cheeks are incredibly sore, because he can't stop smiling when he sees Louis kiss him all over again, can't stop smiling when he hears Louis whispers carried across the wind. He almost forgets about the awkward run-in with Nick as he falls asleep. Almost.  

 

~ 

 

Louis wakes up to an empty bed, and open curtains that are letting the bright, dreary light through. He rolls over, his groans muffled by the Harry-scented pillows that squish around his face. He smiles dreamily, the rich scent of his boyfriend sending shivers through his body.

The word is foreign to him, yet it makes him feel elated in a way he's never felt before. Louis has always wondered what it would be like to be one half of something, one side of the same coin.  The word makes Louis’ lips crack open even more, his teeth pressing against the while cotton of the pillow covers. He can feel his eyes crinkling with the smile, and he lets out a tiny burst of giggles as he rolls over. _Boyfriend._

He’s ignoring the way he currently resembles a teenage girl, and decides that maybe they have a reason to act this way. It certainly does feel heavenly.

Although this a novel and exciting thing for him, its also a really difficult stage, because he's so elated, and he doesn't want to mess anything up. He's never felt this before, this heartfelt sensation that floods his body, this dreamy high that makes his heart flutter relentlessly, or this sudden urge to want to be a part of the excitement of the world.

He closes his eyes again, listening to the faint clatter of pans and the sizzle of what he can only assume is bacon, and thinks that maybe he could get used to this. Maybe.

Louis is drifting in and out of consciousness when he hears the soft patter of clumsy feet ascending the stairs to where he's sleeping. His heart quivers, but he remains soundless and rigid. He hears Harry open the door, before something clatters to the floor.

“Shit,” he hears Harry exclaim, and he tries to stop himself from giggling.

Louis hears the plate Harry is holding get put down on the beside table beside him, and he feels the bed dip next to him. He can feel the warmth that Harry always seems to radiate, mixed with the constant tension and apprehension that always seems to follow Harry wherever he goes. Louis wishes he could kiss away his anxiety and his negative thinking at times, but he knows that all he can do is support Harry in his own weird way until he gets better. Louis just has to build up Harry's confidence in himself and show Harry what an amazing person he actually is.

“Wake up, love,” Harry's raspy voice whispers in his ear, and he feels Harry's soft lips press kisses against his cheek.

Harry's lips trail down Louis’ neck, his sizeable hands running down his warm back, rubbing him soothingly. Louis sighs with tiredness and stirs, opening his eyes to a blurry face with mounds of curls falling to touch his cheeks. Louis wraps his arms lazily around Harry's neck, pulling him down so that his head is resting on Louis’ petite chest.

“Morning,” Louis whispers in to Harry's hair.

“Morning, _mon amour_ ,” Harry purrs on to Louis’ chest, his lips pressing tiny butterfly kisses to his pecks.

“I didn't know you speak French,” Louis smiles, tangling his fingers in Harry's hair.

“Took for two years in High School. Dropped it when I decided that I knew enough,” Harry murmurs, and Louis can feel the vibrations from his voice flitter across his skin.

“What is enough to you?” Louis raises his eyebrow when Harry lifts his head to meet Louis’ eyes.

“Enough to compliment the hell out of you,” Harry says softly, his cheeks turning pink at his own words.

Louis loves how Harry becomes embarrassed when he speaks to him. He finds it so adorable that Harry feels the need to compliment everyone he meets, but becomes increasingly nervous as he does so. It's even more adorable that he's still nervous with Louis.

Louis looks in to Harry's emerald eyes. He loves how they glitter in the pale, weak light of winter. He loves the way they're so soft, and they speak of sincerity and kindness and utter truth. He can see Harry's timid personality in the way that the corners of his mouth turn up slightly, and his gaze darts away from Louis’, coming back every now and then to see if Louis is still looking at him. His cheeks turn redder every time he looks back and Louis is staring at him with fond painted across his features.

“Stop,” Harry whines, burying his face in the pillow opposite Louis’.

“Stop what, babe?” Louis laughs, turning on his side to watch the squeamish boy.

“Looking at me like that! And no. I don't wanna be babe. Too cliché. Too _white girl_ ,” Harry waffles in to his pillow, his words deep and muffled.

Louis can't help but laugh. A nineteen year-old boy is sitting beside him with his head buried in a pillow because he's embarrassed, grumbling on about how _white girl_ something is. Louis thinks he's about to explode with adoration for the beautiful boy beside him.

“Too _white girl_?” He manages it spit out between fits of laugher. “Please. With wild hair like that, you could be a white girl any day.”

Harry sits up, flicking one side of his hair behind him, his eyes twinkling with joy. “You think? It's always been a dream of mine.”

“You look like you were the boy that dreamed of being a princess,” Louis teases, his mouth turned up in a smirk.

"Not true!" Harry protests, flicking Louis' nose.

"I'm gonna start calling you princess, princess," Louis smirks lightly. 

"No Lou... Please," Harry shakes his head, a smile dancing on his pallid skin.

"Harry is a princess who steals his sister's dresses."

“That's rude. You're killing the ego here,” Harry pouts, and Louis’ stomach squirms at the sight. Harry looks adorable and so...innocent. Louis has no clue why the thought is so appealing.

“What ego? You were a white girl princess two seconds ago. I think I need to check you in to a clinic for your mental issues, man.”

There's a silence that fills the room after Louis' comment. Harry's face has fallen, and his gaze is down, his eyes watching the white bedsheets between them. Louis wants to slap himself.

All Harry has ever spoken to his about is how he used to get teased, get called retarded and stupid because of his anxiety and his inability to communicate effectively with people without becoming too overwhelmed or swallowing his words. Louis’ whole body is rigid and his heart is heavy with guilt.

“Harry, love, you know I didn't mean that the way you took it. I would never, ever say anything rude about your insecurities. It was a slip of the tongue; I'm a terrible person when it comes to sarcastic comments. It's how I am. I'm so sorry,” Louis apologizes over and over again, reaching for Harry.

Harry flinches slightly, and Louis can hear him sniffling, and his heart cracks in two. Louis couldn't even wait a full day before fucking things up again.

He can't stand the idea of Harry being afraid of him, of Harry not wanting Louis to touch him because he's afraid Louis will hurt him. Louis just wants to curl up in a hole and scold himself for being such a prick. He can't actually believe himself.

“Harry, please,” Louis sounds broken, his voice cracking, “I didn't mean it. Please, you've got to believe me. I would never, ever do something like that. Please.”

“It's okay,” Harry's sad murmurs are barely audible. “I know. And I'm used to those comments. It just kind of stunned me a little. Sorry for being so emotional.”

Louis launches himself at Harry, unable to let himself think of a sixteen year-old Harry, his hair wild and curly, his face young and fresh, in a corner, curled up on himself and cursing himself for being different. For being stupid.

Louis hates how absolutely ignorant he can be at times. He hates the way he always ends up offending people just because he's becomes sarcastic to defend himself and come off carefree in other people's eyes. He hates the way he's completely unable to be anything but sarcastic anymore. In the end, it keeps him sheltered and keeps people out of his business and happy...for the most part.

Louis sits in Harry's lap, wrapping his arms around Harry's neck and pulling him close to his body. Louis sighs with relief when Harry's arms come up to wrap around his bare back. Louis hugs him tightly with all he's got, anything to make Harry stop feeling this way.

“Do you believe me when I say it was a seriously cruel joke? I love the way you are. I think you're amazing and I wouldn't change you if I had the opportunity. Everything about you shines and it even makes me feel like a better person. Don't listen to me. I was being silly. Please?”

“It's okay Lou,” Harry smiles and whispers against his ear. “Thank you. But it's really okay.”

“It's not. I don't want you feeling like you deserve to be treated that way, or that something's wrong with you and you have to accept it. That's not the truth.”

“I was talking about your apology,” Harry chuckles nervously, his fingers running through Louis’ featherlike, chestnut-coloured tousles.

“Oh. Well then. Thank you. I still stand by my previous statement, though.”

“I know Lou. It means a lot having you in my life.”

Louis kisses Harry's cheek. “How about we have breakfast and shower and brush our teeth, and then I can give you the proper good-morning-kiss that you deserve.”  

Louis tries to ignore the lingering look in Harry's sparkling jade eyes, tries to ignore the way he reads apprehension, sadness, and something that mimics a light form of betrayal.  


	12. Drunken Confessions

When the next week rolls around, it's like a thunderstorm looming above Harry's head, following him wherever he goes. His days have been completely filled with interviews, appearances and shoots, and his nights filled with performances on talk shows and at rather large venues. He's extremely thrilled every time he goes on stage, and loves how slowly at every show, more people turn up and more people know his name and his songs. They've had to change venues for one of his performances because they overbooked and too many people were coming, and it made Harry feel like an absolute star.

He can’t explain the swell of emotion that builds up in his throat and chest whenever he sees people singing along to his songs animatedly and cheering him on. He loves the way girls cry when they see him. In the most un-sadistic way possible.

It's been exactly six days since he's last seen his favourite bundle of sunshine and happiness, that comes in the form of a petite, curvy, tawny-haired boy with azure eyes that shine with life and joy. Harry has been reduced to text messages for almost a week now; because Louis has been cooped up in his flat at Uni, studying his arse off for his tests, and Harry hasn't had a break to go see him either.

It's like something from Romeo and Juliet; as soon as the two are together, fate slowly tears them apart. However in this modern version, grades and exams and work seem to be the sole diving factor. Harry doesn't exactly fancy being banned from London for killing Louis’ cousin, so he supposes that work is better than something as bad as that.

Besides, he doesn’t even know who Louis’ cousin is.

He shakes himself out of his rather absurd daydream, and out of the sudden thought of comparing Louis to Juliet in pink, lacy underwear, and he gulps.

He's currently getting prepped for a signing, and people are rushing around him, fixing his outfit and every hair that falls out of his large, sloping quiff. He doesn’t need any surprises popping up. _Literally._

He's not paying attention to anything after his phone buzzes in his pocket, his fingers fumbling blindly for it while the stylist smacks him for moving so much. Harry ignores her.

 

_Just finished my exam. Literature was a breeze!!! Only two more to go before we can really celebrate! How's your day been? :) xx_

Harry smiles and bites his lip, shaking his head at Louis’ overuse of question marks. The slight OCD tendencies inside of him wants to correct him, but his fondness and excitement for Louis stops him, and he turns it in to a joke instead.

 

_Wow, surely as an English major you know that the use of more than one exclamation mark is grammatically incorrect and frankly very frustrating to a particular boy who is slightly OCD? Oh, and it's been alright. About to do a signing. X_

“Harry, I'm going to take that _goddammed_ phone away from you if you don't start concentrating on what I'm telling you!” Rebecca snaps loudly and clicks her fingers in front of Harry's face.

Harry blinks and smiles sheepishly at Rebecca, who is looking scarily official in her pencil skirt and matching blazer, and her awfully tight bun that pulls at her receding hairline.

“Sorry,” he shrugs, slipping the phone back in to his pocket, and cringing when he feels it vibrate.

He resists the urge to reply, and tries to listen attentively to Rebecca's instructions. He can only listen half-heartedly though, because his mind is on the weekend that him and Louis had shared before.

His favourite part was Saturday morning, and teaching Louis how to flip pancakes in the kitchen. It was messy and hilarious, and Harry was left to clean up the mess after Louis complained about “always having to clean up after his peasants” and ran away. Harry just shook his head and laughed, before picking up the failed flips of half cooked batter that lay limply on the floor. After Louis had then initiated a game of hide and seek, and Harry finally found him holed up in the guest bath, Louis and him had sat on the couch for the rest of the day, watching movies and eating pancakes and popcorn. Harry was at his happiest with little Louis curled in to his side, wearing Harry's large, red woolen sweater and boxers. Louis looked strikingly like a kitten with his crinkled eyes and nose, his small hands resembling paws as the sleeves covered his fingertips. Harry loved the way he curled them in to fists on Harry's chest. The particular image of Louis had flipped his stomach inside out every time he remembered it.

Harry winces when he's slapped with Rebecca's thick file. “Ouch!”

“What's gotten in to you? You're not listening to anything I'm saying!” Rebecca groans in frustration, rubbing her temples that are thickly covered with powder and makeup. Harry really wants to tell her that she'd look so much better with less makeup and her hair looser and around her face, but he's scared she'll shout and him or take offense to the way she looks right now.

“I'm really sorry. I've just been thinking about so many things lately, loads has been going on. I promise I'll listen,” Harry apologizes, giving Rebecca his cutest smile.

“Is it a girl? Because Harry, if you want a girl to mess around with, we can organize someone quite famous for you. It would be amazing publicity. You're a very good-looking boy, the girls are mad about you. It wouldn't be hard. Although your fans would be disappointed because you're no longer single-”

“No, I don't want someone to “mess around with”, and I already have someone,” Harry states proudly, and he can see Louis’ face in his head, smiling up at him for being bold and proud of something.

“Harry, come sit here for a bit. We have some time to chat,” Rebecca looks tired and mournful, and startles Harry by looking more like a mother than his agent in that moment.

Harry strolls over and sits next to her on the plush leather couch that was kindly provided for him in his room before going out to the signing. His jeans squeak on the fabric, irritating his ears profusely, and he shakes his head and tries to drown out the aggravating sound by sitting as still as he can.

“This “someone”, it isn't a boy, is it?” Rebecca places a caring hand on his back, rubbing up and down.

She looks so sincere, Harry thinks, like a caring mother who has so much advice to give from experience. Harry has never seen her this way, but it's so refreshing and Harry really likes the kind side of her.

“W-Why would it be a problem?” Harry stutters, his eyes blinking fast and his hands growing sweaty.

Harry can sense that something is about to go wrong, that there's a problem with him, and he can already feel the negativity eating away at him, blaming him for problems he doesn't even know about yet. _Because that's what you do Harry,_ he thinks to himself, _you cause problems not only in your world, but everyone else's._

“You're so young and have so much potential, I mean, you're blowing up massively. _Sad Song_ and _The Girl_ are on the charts, and quite high up. We've actually been in talks with Simon Cowell himself about getting you on to his record label. He's still monitoring your progress and watching you really closely, Harry. It's a well-known fact that gay singers don't do as well as straight ones. Many of the people in fan bases are Christian and are very sensitive to that kind of stuff, or don't like gays at all. Not that there's anything wrong with you, if you are. I know when we first got ahold of you; you told me you were bisexual. And after watching the videos of you that rather flamboyant Louis Tomlinson at the Fashion Awards, I wasn't sure if maybe you two were...a thing.”

There's silence as Harry tries to comprehend her words. Of course Harry wants his music to blow up and become famous, because singing his feelings has always been a dream of his, but if he were to reach that dream, Louis wouldn't be able to be a part of it in the public eye. Harry can't understand why the world has to be so cruel, why he couldn't just be open and happy with Louis as his boyfriend and still be one of the most famous artists out there.

Harry is ready to scream and cry with all the turmoil that's happening inside of him. His mind is constantly rushing through scenarios about what would happen if people found out he were gay. People would spit at him, call him a _faggot_ , refuse to listen to his music. Harry wouldn't be able to choose between the two things that make him the happiest in his life. It would tear him apart beyond the point of repair.

“Louis is just...just a friend. He and I are just close, is all,” Harry's voice is shaking and quiet, a barely-there whisper above the commotion in the room around him.

“Well if there's anything there, Harry, I'm sorry but it just can't happen. For the sake of your career. You can do big things in the world Harry, if you stick to the rules and do what's expected of you. And that's all I can say,” Rebecca gives Harry a smile that says, “I'm sorry”, and gets up and leaves the room. 

Harry visibly sags and gulps back tears. He wishes he wasn't so emotional, but the thought of him not being able to be with Louis is dangerous ground for him. He hasn't known Louis for very long, two or three months is pushing it, but he already knows that Louis is one of the most important people in his life, and he was so excited to belong to Louis, to be _his._

“No matter,” Harry says to himself, thinking that if he hears a voice speaking to him, it would be more convincing. “It'll just have to be a secret.”

The last thing Harry feels like is a signing, and facing rabid fans that he didn't even know were so dedicated, but he knows that he needs to be thankful for what they've done for him and cherish them. He foolishly fishes out his phone from the tightness of his denim pocket, his heart clenching when he sees Louis’ reply to his earlier message.

 

_Just the most enthusiastic guy ever, haha! I love the OCD side of you. It makes sure all my stuff is arranged neatly at your place! Good luck for the signing, can't wait to see you soon!!! (Had to express my excitement, soz love) Maybe later I'll curl up and watch videos of you singing and at signings. Then cry myself to sleep because you're so cool and I'm not :( xx_

Harry is even less motivated now, and types out a quick _See you soon xx_ , before switching his phone off completely and trying to wipe away the redness around his eyes and the one or two tears that obviously leaked through without him noticing. Harry thinks that maybe he'll be all right, because what indie artist doesn't have problems with their emotions?

Rebecca comes back in, her motherly aura gone, and Harry knows that she means business again. She makes Harry go check himself over in the full length mirror again, while stylists critique him from all angles. He's wearing a pair of black skinny jeans, with an abstract flowing top that's buttoned down three buttons, so that his bird tattoos are visible and the beginning of his butterfly on his stomach. He doesn't like the way his stomach pops out, but the stylists won't let him do up any more buttons. They decide that his hair is too messy and that there's no time to fix it, so they wrap a brown bandana across his head, and Harry actually likes the look. He was set to wear golden glitter boots that he fancied, but he's in his favourite worn-out, brown leather ones instead. The problems he's going to face with Louis is still clouding his thoughts, but he tries to pull out of them and focus on the task at hand instead.

Rebecca ushers him out of the room and down a few corridors, before he's out in the open of some massive shopping centre, and all he can hear is the screaming of girls bouncing off the walls. It makes his ears ring, and he cringes, and has to put his head between his legs for a few seconds. Rebecca shoves him along, saying something like “you'll get used to it”, and suddenly all Harry can see is the flash of cameras and crying girls, and he has to blink and cover his eyes before he is ushered in to a seat.

He can't believe that there's just this sea of girls, and some boys, running as far as he can see. He's never has this type of turnout before, and it's so amazing, but it's too overwhelming for Harry, and he can start to feel the symptoms of his anxiety attacks developing.

There have been so many people already coming up to him, and he's been sitting for half an hour. According to the security around him, it isn't even a third of everyone that's there. Harry's sure that something fishy is going on, and that not all these people have heard of him, but sure enough, during a quick break, he checks his phone and _Harry Styles_ is trending on Twitter in London.

“I can't believe this,” he whispers to himself. “Wow.”

He's almost done when two girls come up to him, jumping up and down excitedly and commenting about how handsome he is and how amazing his music is, and he's heard all of these compliments over and over again today, but he just smiles brightly and thanks them for supporting him. He wishes he could give them more, but he's really not in the mood and feels super guilty about it, but he has more problems than he'd like to think about right now. The one girl starts talking while he's signing her stuff, and suddenly begins to ask about something he knows he shouldn't talk about.

“Are you and Louis Tomlinson dating?” she asks excitedly, her smile wide and her eyes glassy. “I saw your guys’ interview on YouTube, the one from the fashion awards? You two are adorable! Please tell me you have some sort've thing!”

Harry can't help himself as his lips break in to a massive grin and he looks down and giggles nervously. The girls squeal and Harry has to stop them from running away to tell their friends. He bites his lip, but his smile is still evident. “He's my best friend.”

“Oh, but don't you think you'd be a cute couple? If there was a remote possibility that you two were both, in fact, gay?” The other girl asks out of the blue, and Harry is taken aback by her bluntness.

“Yeah, I ’spose we'd match,” Harry shrugs nonchalantly, but inside, he's warming up with joy because people think him and Louis would be cute together.

“Thank you Harry! Have a good day.” The girls leave, and Harry is left with more screaming fans that don't actually care about his hearing, it seems.

He's almost finished, and he's watching the grey clouds and the pitter-patter of rain falling on the glass roof above him, his mind racing, when suddenly, he can't breathe anymore. His chest is closing up, his ears are ringing, and there's still at least thirty girls waiting for him to sign their stuff. He stands up abruptly, shaky hands grabbing for his water, but it doesn't help. He isn't sure why he's having a panic attack, probably because everything finally became too much for him, but security is fumbling around him, and the girls are watching him with caution and worry.

“Get Louis on the phone,” Harry gasps as hot tears streak down his face. “I don't have my medicine, and he can calm me down. Please, quickly!”

There are hushed murmurs coming from the crowd, but they're nothing compared to the ringing in Harry's ears and the extreme pumping of his heart. He's gasping for breath as the security takes his phone out of his pocket and calls Louis.

“Is this Louis?” A burly Irishman that's a part of his security speaks in to the phone. “Harry is having some sort of meltdown at the signing, and he says he needs to talk to you?”

The phone is immediately given to Harry, and he's escorted away from the signing, and can faintly hear Rebecca telling everyone he'll be out just now after he's calmed down.

“L-Lou?” Harry gasps, “There were just s-so many people and I-I couldn't take the screaming and the noise and everyone and so many and it was too much eventually-”

“Shhhh, Hazz,” Louis’ light and soothing voice comes through the phone. “Deep breaths, okay? You're riling yourself up. Breathe and listen to me, okay?”

“I forgot to take my medicine this morning,” Harry snivels loudly, thankful that there's a loud noise coming from the singing to cover it up, “I forgot and n-now I c-can't breathe and I c-can't do anything! I don’t even know why or what’s going on with me!”

There are tears and red patches on Harry's face, spit dribbling down his chin and his mouth curved open in the worst crying face possible. He knows he looks terrible, horrific even, and he's just happy that Louis has never seen him during any of his attacks.

“It's okay, love. It's normal for you, we all understand. You just need to relax a bit, okay? How's this; I'll take a break tonight from studying and come around, and we can take a mattress out on to the balcony and take your laptop and tons of blankets, and we can watch that movie you've been wanting to? What was it called?”

“L-Love, Rosie,” Harry murmurs, not sure how he’s supposed to just breathe normally again, or _just relax,_ but trying to regulate his breathing nonetheless.  

“Yeah that one,” Louis’ voice is like soft silk, smooth and rich, and Harry loves his accent and the way he speaks. “I don't have an exam tomorrow, is that okay?”

“You need to s-s-study,” Harry protests weakly, sagging against a wall he's been propped up against. “I don't want you doing badly because of me.”

“I wasn't going to study tonight, anyway. I was going to go out with the boys,” Louis says lightly. “But I'll cancel.”

“N-No!” Harry says quickly, and he needs to suck in a few more hasty breaths before he can speak again. “You can still go out with them, don't worry.”

“You can come with then,” Louis states happily. “Would you like that?”

Harry's breathing has calmed down, his chest only jerking occasionally because of his crying. His body feels weak and limp suddenly, rather than tense and shaky. His heart is still beating quickly, but he can take steadier breaths.

“If it's not too much trouble,” Harry whispers in to the phone, wiping away his spit and tears. “If it won't bother them or you. Paparazzi have been following me around lately.”

“It'll be perfect, Harold. Are you feeling better now? Ready to face the day again?” Louis jokes, and Harry can hear him trying to be light and funny to make Harry feel better.

“Yeah, yeah. Thank you, love. I just really missed you. And you're the only one that can really calm me down,” Harry sniffles, swallowing thickly.

“I'll see you later, then? If anything else goes wrong, or you're feeling a bit off, call me, okay? Immediately. I hate it when you suffer, love.”

“Bye, Lou.”

“Bye, _mon ange_.”

Harry clicks the phone off, and the only thing running through his mind is that Louis’ French accent is _awful_ , and that’s coming from a kid who took French for only two years.

He lifts his head and breathes in deeply, wiping away the wetness that's hot against his face, and musters up the courage and energy to carry on. And so he does.

Harry really and truly only feels better once he's home and alone again. He's curled in his bed, his duvet pushed right against his face, cocooning himself in his own warmth. He knows that he told Louis he would go out with them, but he's really not feeling up to it anymore, and he doesn't want to make a fool out of himself in public _again_.

Like the curious cat Harry is, he immediately googles himself and searches himself on Twitter when he gets home. It's all over the news that he's had a panic attack, and most of the fans on twitter are really supportive of it, and it makes him happy. But then, he sees the negative tweets.

 

_“Harry Styles is a gorilla with an anxiety disorder. Lock him up._ _”_

_“Can someone please cut his hair? He looks like George of the Jungle. It shows in his lack of hair products._ _”_

_“Please can someone deliver some anxiety pills and shampoo to this boy's house? It's obvious he's too scared to go out and get it himself._ _”_

 

Louis wasn't supposed to find him curled up in a ball of his own tears, but because nothing seems to be going his way today, he does. Harry doesn't hear the gate open, or the front door, but he hears the sharp intake of breath from the bedroom doorway, and the scurrying of little feet against the hardwood floor, and he sees Louis’ tiny fingers plucking the sleek, sticky-with-tears phone from his grasp.

He places the phone on the bedside table and pulls Harry's hands way from his reddening face. Louis curls up in bed with him, face on, and wraps his arms around Harry's head that's now sobbing in to Louis’ chest. Harry doesn't want to say anything to Louis, about how everything is just too much right now and how he wishes he wasn't such a coward and that he could take criticism.

“We need to make an appointment to cut my hair,” Harry cries as Louis pulls him tighter. “We need to do something with it.”

“I love your hair,” Louis murmurs, pressing a kiss to Harry's temple. “I love the way it looks when you bun it or when you pull it back in that quiff. It's perfect. Don't you like it?”

“I-I do,” Harry stammers, sniffling. “I just don’t know what I did for people to not like me.”

“Then don't give a fuck about anyone else,” Louis replies simply, his voice sounding angry. “You're your own person and they're all arseholes who have no say in what your life should be like. You have so much more money, you have a career, and you have a very caring boyfriend that is really feeling the need to stab someone in the throat.”

Harry wants to laugh at Louis’ remark, thank him for being so protective and lovely, but the sting of the word _boyfriend_ is both joyous and aching. Harry needs to talk to Louis about their relationship, and how they'll have to hide it, and the thought of it just sends Harry in to another fit of sobs.

“I was about to tell Rebecca about you and I to-”

The blaring of Louis’ phone cuts off Harry. He insists that Louis answers it, and Louis grabs it with half a heart and answers. It's Niall, Harry can hear but the chipper Irish accent that speaks way too loudly for a phone call. He's checking about the plans for the night, and Louis is mumbling something about canceling when Harry butts in.

“No!” He protests loudly. “No, go out. Please. I'll be fine.”

Louis cocks an eyebrow at him that says _you're not fine, shut up_ , and Harry grabs the phone and musters up a happy tone, clearing his throat and breathing deeply.

“Hey Niall,” he quips.

“Harry! You joining us tonight?”

“Yeah. Lou and I will see you at around seven at that pub you were talking about?”

Louis is shaking his head with a grimace on his face when he puts down the phone call. His arms are tight around Harry and his face is stern.

“You're not okay, why did you do that?” Louis demands softly, his voice soft but his words threatening.

“Because I want you to go out and have fun, not stay at home and worry about me. It hurt, a lot, and it will continue to hurt, but we can go out and at least have fun tonight. Please, love?”

Harry looks at Louis with bright, puppy eyes that are still red-rimmed and glassy, but Louis gives in and pressed a lingering kiss to Harry's forehead.

“Okay love, okay.”

Louis pulls Harry out of bed and stands on his toes to brush away Harry's tear tracks. He traces Harry's cheeks with his palms, his fingers ghosting the soft, tender skin of Harry's gnawed lips. Louis pulls Harry's bottom lip out from the grasp of his teeth, sighing when he spots the specks of blood on his wet and chapped lips.

“I do that when I cry,” Harry admits softly, bowing his head. “Sorry.”

“It's okay,” Louis whispers half-heartedly, wincing when Harry involuntarily bites in to the wounds again. “Stop it, Harold. It'll get worse.”

Harry apologizes again but Louis just shushes him and pulls him to the bathroom. Harry sits down on the counter, and Louis stands between his legs, wetting some cotton wool and wiping it along Harry's wet face and sore lips. He dries off Harry's face, and applies some much-needed Vaseline to Harry's lips, before pecking his nose gently. Harry feels protected and taken care of, the way Louis’ touches are feather light and full of passion. The tickling of his touches are sending shivers through Harry, and he loves how much better he feels when Louis is around him.

Louis leaves Harry with another chaste kiss to the temple before exiting the bathroom, mumbling something about finding him something to wear for the night. Harry wants to say that he's perfectly capable of doing that himself, because it makes him feel useless when Louis does everything for him, but at the same time, he loves the feeling that Louis taking care of him elicits from his body.

Harry is agitated and upset, his leg bouncing up and down and his heart and mind heavy. The scarring words of the public's harsh criticism are swirling in Harry's head, breaking him down piece by piece, as if they were a maleficent child slowly demolishing someone else's Lego creation, and then laughing in their face. He sucks in a shaky breath and hangs his head in his hands, the day’s events weighing heavily on him.

“Harry, are you sure about tonight?” Louis’ soft and precious voice rings in Harry's ears. “You look so upset, and I don't want you feeling bad the whole night.”

The only thing on Harry's mind is getting drunk and feeling the familiar buzz that alcohol rewards him with, but he knows he can't tell Louis that, because then he would most definitely not be allowed out, which would mean little old Harry in a sleazy bar down the street, drunk as hell and dodging creepy men.

“I won't be. I just need to go out, Lou. Just have fun and forget,” Harry smiles lightly, trying to convince Louis that he is in fact, okay.

“Alright. Here, put this on. I thought it would look good on you.”

Harry is handed a pair of ripped skinny jeans (obviously), black ankle boots and a yellow dress shirt that Harry hasn't seen in ages. Louis is standing awkwardly at the door, not sure if he should leave or stay, and frankly, Harry isn't sure either. He just decides to start stripping down, removing his pants first and sliding on his skinny jeans with much difficultly. Louis is pretending to be busy looking at all the products on Harry's bathroom counter, but Harry can see Louis’ eyes on his body and the rosy pink of his cheeks. Harry decides to make a show out of this, and stretches as he pulls his shirt off, his fern tattoos becoming visible with his v-line. He hears try to Louis gulp subtly, and he smiles to himself.

When he's fully dressed, Louis does his hair for him, and styles it in a quiff, and the hairstyle reminds Harry of his own self a few years ago. He feels better now, well taken care of, and well groomed. Louis grabs his hand and tugs him out of the bathroom and in to the bedroom, and Harry realizes just how good Louis is looking. His hair is messy on his forehead, and he's cleanly shaven, wearing an _All Out_ hoodie and his usual tight skinny jeans and vans, and his bum looks _incredible_. Harry wants to grab a feel of it suddenly, and before he knows it, his hands are squeezing the skin of Louis’ backside. Louis yelps in surprise, turning around and grinning at Harry with an accusing arched eyebrow.

“Holy shit, I'm sorry,” Harry is breathless, because Louis’ ass feels so damn good, but also because he can't believe he just did that.

“Besotted with my arse, are you Harold? Couldn't help yourself?” Louis edges closer to Harry, until they're standing chest to chest. “Is it a nice arse, Harry?”

“Amazing,” Harry whispers, entranced by Louis’ eyes.

In a moment of bravery, he grabs Louis’ bum and pulls him close to Harry, and he can feel every inch of Louis, can feel his body heat encircling him. Louis moans delicately when Harry squeezes and slowly bites down Louis’ neck. “So fucking amazing.”

“I didn't know you spoke such profanities, I'm supposed to be the bad one in the relationship. Should wash your mouth out with soap, Harold.” Louis gets out between ragged breaths.

“You can wash it out with something else,” Harry whispers so low, that Louis hums because he didn't hear him, and Harry's snapped out of Louis’ seducing trance, his cheeks hot and his eyes glued to the floor.

“Uhh, never mind. Sorry, Lou. I just thought about your arse and then I was grabbing it and-”

“Shhh.” Louis presses a finger to Harry's lips to silence him. “We're together, remember? You can touch me, it's okay. Just buy me dinner first.”

Harry still feels awkward about what he's done, but he just presses a shaky kiss to Louis’ cheek and grabs his hand so that they can leave.

Harry drives because Louis mumbles something about being lazy, and sits for most of the drive with his legs up on the seat cuddled close to his chest, his thumbs scrolling through what Harry can only assume is Twitter or Instagram. He's got a smirk on his face, and Harry's wondering what Louis is up to.

He pulls in to the bar, and struggles to find a parking spot, but as soon as Louis looks up, he spots one and directs Harry towards it. Harry doesn't know how Louis just _does_ everything. They hop out and link hands in Harry's trench coat that he grabbed before they left. Louis is walking close to Harry so that no one suspects anything, and Louis explains that he had seen two boys getting roughed up by drunk, homophobic men in the parking lot once. Harry tightens his grip on Louis’ small fingers, scared by the idea of a beaten-up Lou as they walk in to the bar.

It's a warm, cosy bar with modern settings. White couches are dusted along the walls, with modern bar stools at the bar, and tall tables are placed randomly around, with four or five stools accompanying them. An array of alcohol is set up and colour-coordinated from red through to purple. The lights are hung low and are dim, and the whole place looks like a shadowy blanket of fog has been placed over it. Louis spots Niall and Liam at one of the tall tables in the middle of the room, and idly Harry wonders where the dark haired boy is, Zayn he thinks his name is?

Niall claps Harry on the back and Liam does the same, his brown eyes warm and slightly hazy. Harry laughs, because Niall is bubbly and bright as he grabs Harry's arse, and Harry can hear Louis mumbling something about keeping hands off the merchandise.    

“It's good to see you again, mate! Have a seat,” Liam says, gesturing to the two bar stools open on the other side of the table.

Harry and Louis settle in to their chairs, and Louis orders a rum and coke, while Harry orders a double shot of vodka and tonic, eager to let the alcohol take away the pain of the day. Louis gives him a strange look when he orders, but keeps his lips sealed.

“Where's Zayn?” Harry asks once the waiter has left to get their drinks.

“We're gutted ’bout him. He's transferred to a Uni closer to Bradford, where his mum and girlfriend are. He reckons she's the one and wants to be with her, and he also needs the support of his family right now. His grandfather passed away,” Niall says solemnly, and Louis tenses up beside him at the mention of Zayn, but again, says nothing.

“He was one of our best mates,” Liam adds, his face suddenly sullen.

“But enough about that,” Louis clears his throat sharply, smiling a slightly annoyed and bitchy smile, before clapping Niall on the arm. “Tell Harry about the girl you did the other night.”

The rest of the night is a blur to Harry, half from all the alcohol sloshing about in his system, and half from the hazy secondary-smoke that he's been ingesting the whole night. Louis is assuring him that it's not weed, but Harry knows that even with normal cigarettes he starts to feel funny.

Niall and him are the rowdiest at this point in time. They've both had a tequila shot competition, and Niall won obviously, because he's Irish and the amount of liquor he can hold is startling. Harry's head is swirling and all he feels is a slight buzz, some nausea, but mostly he's just extremely elated.

“And then this other girl came up to me, and was like, “Lets get it on back at my place.” So I went, and turns out she's a fuckin’ nutcase!” Niall bellows, and almost falls over with the amount he's laughing. “So, so, so then we're getting it on and stuff in her bed, and she handcuffs me to her bed and I'm thinking, “yeah, alright, this is hot.” And then she takes out this whip and I'm like “holy shit! No no no!”

Harry is holding his stomach and trying to stop himself from laughing, because it hurts a lot but honestly, it's a good kind of pain. Louis’ eyebrows are creased together and he's sipping at his drink, only his second one of the night, and he looks miserable. Harry suddenly feels upset, and turns to Louis with wide eyes.

“Are you not having a good time because I came?” Harry whispers to him, while Liam and Niall are in a drunken conversation about _Fifty Shades of Grey_.

“That's not it, Harry, you know I love having you around,” Louis’ eyes soften, and he looks down. “I'm just worried about you and how much you're drinking. You never drink like this.”

“Because I'm a sorry-arse prude that never goes out? ’S not my fault,” Harry slurs, feeling tears slowly begin to build in his eyes. “I wanna be fun for a change. Fun for you to go out with. So that you're not stuck being bored with Harry who can't talk to be people and Harry who is a recluse.”

“I think maybe you should stop now, sober up a bit,” Louis tries desperately, because he knows Harry is headed to the stage of drinking where he becomes severely depressed.

“Let the boy drink!” Niall yells out, “You're his boyfriend, not his father.”

“You could be my daddy,” Harry wiggles his eyebrows, “Could be fun, Lou.”

“As appealing as that sounds, it is rather disturbing,” Louis replies, a little awkwardly.

“Oh, it's okay. My real father didn't want to be mine either,” Harry laughs, but suddenly, the table is silent. Harry seems to be the only one who found it amusing.  

“I think I'm taking Harry home now,” Louis says, standing up and pulling Harry off of his chair.

He stumbles and almost crashes to the ground, but rights himself and shakes his head when the room starts spinning. Louis tells Harry to stand right where he is and wait for him while he buys Harry a bottle of water before they leave. Harry stands, glued to the spot, twirling his thumbs and humming happily. He suddenly feels a hand on his hip that turns him around far too quickly, and he ends up falling in to someone's sturdy arms.

“Oh sorry about that. You're quite drunk, aren't you?” a familiar voice echoes through Harry's head.

“Hey, you're that from the beach, the one that my boyfriend doesn't like,” Harry giggles, meeting eyes with Nick Grimshaw. “You're Natalie.”

“Hopefully not, because I am rather male.”

“I like them male.”

“Wow, you're drunk,” Nick laughs, holding Harry up. “And I didn't get to see on the beach, but you have very nice eyes.”

“My daddy won't like it that you're talking to me like that,” Harry drones, opening his eyes wide and blinking hard when he sees two of Nick.

“Your daddy? Are you and Louis in to that?” Nick chuckles, but sounds rather interested, and it kind of scares Harry.

“No, actually, we only got the idea now from my best mate. Louis didn't seem so keen, but I'm sure after I explain the story of my own dad being a dick about me being his son, he'll reconsider. He's caring like that.”

“Are you okay?” Nick asks, looking genuinely concerned. Harry knew he shouldn't have mentioned his father.

“Yeah, I'll be fine. Lou will calm me down later.”

“Speaking of Louis, is he here?”

“You better fucking bet that Louis is here,” Harry hears Louis growl from behind him.

“Meow, kitty,” Harry purrs, making claws with his hands and swiping the air.

“Stop it, Harold,” Louis rolls his eyes, sounding like an irritated parent ridiculing his child. It’s startling, the amount of family comparisons Harry can make tonight. “Why the fuck are you talking to my boyfriend?”

“I saw him and he fell in to my arms. Literally.” Nick looks slightly sly about the whole matter, Harry thinks. Maybe Harry should make Louis feel better.

“Don't worry, kitten. I only have eyes for you and your gorgeous arse,” Harry says, wrapping his arms around Louis and pulling him closer. Louis pushes Harry behind him, as if he's defending him from Nick. He wraps his arms around Louis’ petite waist and bites his earlobe.

“Harry, I said stop,” Louis sounds less determined to get Harry to stop, but nudges Harry away with his nose.

“Listen Nick, just leave. Stop popping out of nowhere and interfering with my life. I don't have time for you or your fucking games.” Louis sounds angry again, and Harry hates it when his kitten is angry, because it scares him.

“Lets go, love,” Harry whispers in Louis’ ear, coaxing him. “Before this starts a fight. You know you're the only one I care about.”

Louis sighs and visibly relaxes, flipping the bird at Nick behind him as they walk out towards their car. Harry can barely walk in a straight line, and Louis has to hold him upright. They get to the car, the air cold and crisp against Harry's face, making him shiver. Louis has to barrel Harry in to the passenger seat, because he wants to play games and not get in the car.

“You're a fucking twat sometimes,” Louis sighs once he has Harry in the car.

Harry sits in the car in silence, his eyes drooping as Louis climbs in the other side. It's dark, and all Harry can see is swirling lights outside as they drive, all blurring in to one big strip of light against the darkness.

“Hey, kitten. Yeah, you, Mr Meowster. Louieeeee,” Harry pokes his cheek and giggles.

“What, Harold?”

“Just wanted to tell you that you're the light in my dark world.”

“Love, your world isn't dark. You're just drunk and probably have your eyes closed,” Louis sounds exasperated, but slightly amused.

“No, it's pretty dark. I just haven't told you everything yet.” Harry sounds serious.

“You mean what you mentioned about your father?” Louis questions carefully, his eyes twinkling in the stream of moonlight coming through the clouds.

“I keep a bottle of whiskey for him when he comes to visit,” Harry starts talking really fast, his breathing rapid. “He likes whiskey. He told me so once when he came home. I knew it was true, cause I smelt it on his breath. He was a good father. I was just a disappointing son.”

“That's not true,” Louis detests, and Harry thinks that Louis is only saying this because he thinks that it's another clichéd story about the drunken father beating up his kid. How wrong Louis is.

“It is. I could never please him. We used to all be a happy family. All five of us.”

“Harry, there's only four of you.”

“I know. B-But there were five of us. ‘M not crazy, its true.”

Harry freaks out and suddenly opens the window and vomits violently as they drive, the memories of his childhood too vivid and the alcohol in his stomach too heavy. Louis places a hand on Harry's back to soothe him, but he looks distraught when Harry turns back to face him.

“I'm gonna shut up now, because everyone I've told this story to has left, and you can't leave me Louis. Then I'll have no one.”


	13. The Rich & Shameless

Uncertainty can do several things to a person. It can drive them mad, completely bonkers, as they sit and wonder what could've been if _this_ had happened, or maybe what happened was not necessarily what _should've_ happened. It can drive them to a place of self-hatred, where one can literally pick out every single flaw about them, or cannot decide simply what to wear, or what to do with them.

Uncertainty can also make a person worry to death. And that's what is happening to Louis.

He's lying opposite a passed out, snoring boy with his gangly limbs hanging over the side of the bed, his face mushed to the satin pillow and his mouth hanging open, with long strings of drool running down his rose lips. Louis thinks he looks adorable.

Louis’ eyebrows are knitted together in deep concern, his eyes droopy and red-rimmed from lack of sleep, his head thumping from all the overthinking he's doing. He wishes he could've let Harry fall asleep feeling reassured, protected, and safe. He hates that he wasn't able to comfort Harry about his parent problems with his father. But Louis hates problems.

He has ever since he was young. His sisters would come home crying, and of course he would comfort them, kind-of, but it got to a point where they just wouldn't stop and it left Louis feeling so drained that it made him hate the experience. They would just go on and on and leave such a damper on Louis’ mood, and nothing that he did or said made anything better, and _that_ was what frustrated him ’till the ends of the earth. So Louis steered clear of problems ever since.

It feels different now, though. Louis has this tug in his heart, pulling him towards the resting, distraught and fairly messed-up boy in front of him. Louis knows he's had a problematic life, but he didn't know to what extent. And now he has a pretty good idea.

He moves a falling curl and tucks it behind Harry's ear, and the lanky boy stirs and groans. Louis doesn't think he's ready for Harry to wake up yet, because he hasn't had time to think about what to say to him.

Okay, he's lying.

He's been up all night, his mind churning and his mouth vomiting words quietly to hear if they sound okay and good enough as comfort words. He wants to tell Harry how sorry he is for being a shit person, and wants to give him an inspirational speech about how great he is and how he shouldn't have a worry in the world, and that anything that happened to him in his past should not weigh him down, because he is a stunning person that deserves everything good that this world has to offer.

It sounds great in his head. Now all he has to do is relay the thoughts to his mouth and actually get them out from behind his lips.

“Louis?” Harry coughs, his voice raspy, his eyes clenched shut.

Louis shuffles closer to him, ignoring the lingering scents of sweat and sick, and pushes Harry's sweaty hair off of his steamy forehead. He traces the indents of Harry's face, the small wrinkles of frustration and pain that pop out as Harry groans and moans nonsensically.

“Hey baby,” Louis coos, trying to cool Harry's face down with his freezing hands.

Louis knows Harry hates the pet name _babe_ , but he hopes that baby is acceptable because a) Louis really likes it and b) Harry resembles a sick child right now.

“So sore, so sick,” Harry mutters softly, his voice straining and his face contorting in pain.

“I know love, I know,” Louis whispers, grabbing a glass of water from the bedside table. “Have a sip, you're probably dehydrated.”

“Can't sit up,” Harry complains weakly, thrashing about lazily.

Louis sits up, grabbing Harry underneath the shoulders and hauling him in to his lap, his head lolling on his knee. He steadies Harry's face with one hand, pushing his mop of curls out of the way and tipping his head back slightly, pouring water in to his mouth. Harry swallows thickly and licks at the leftover beads of water on his lips, mouthing a quiet “more please.”

Harry finishes the glass and sighs, his eyes fluttering closed again as he slumps against Louis. Louis has never seen him this hung-over before; and he instantly chides himself for not watching Harry enough last night.

But what are you supposed to do when it's your boyfriend that's getting drunk, and not someone like your child that you have control over? Louis knows he has no right to tell Harry what to do, even if it's for the good of said person, because Louis doesn't own him.

“What happened last night?” Harry complains, bringing a shaky hand up to cover his forehead.

“We went out with the boys, you got piss drunk, and yeah...” Louis trails off, not sure whether or not to mention Harry's traumatizing words of the night.

“Did I go ballistic? It feels like I did,” Harry says, coughing slightly. “My throat’s so dry.”

“If you're asking whether or not you partied really hard, the answer is no. Although, you probably went ballistic in your head,” Louis replies carefully, hopping up and refilling the glass in the bathroom sink.

“What do you mean?” Harry calls from the bed.

“Well, you said some things.”

Louis doesn't know if he should carry on, if he should save Harry the embarrassment of talking about something that he's never mentioned to Louis before. It's obviously something he likes to keep to himself, because otherwise he would've said something to Louis, right?

Louis knows it's probably a good thing Harry hasn't said anything to him, because he's not sure if he'd be able to comfort Harry, provide the stunning boy with the right words, and he's sure that a sober Harry would take it much more to heart rather than a drunk and distorted Harry.  

He waddles back in to the room, handing the glass to Harry, who is able to sit up finally, and he takes it with shaky fingers and slurps it down, dribbling water down his chin. Louis grabs the corner of the duvet and wipes his mouth, and Harry looks at him with glassy, thankful eyes.

“I feel sick,” Harry says, slouching, cradling his pounding head in his hands.

“Kindly note that the bathroom is to your right, and that Louis Tomlinson does not wish to be puked upon,” Louis provides, grinning lopsidedly at Harry.

Harry just glares at Louis in a way that Louis hopes is playful, and Louis climbs back in to bed beside Harry, gently rubbing circles in to his sweaty back.

Louis is almost in the clear, because Harry is too focused on not being sick, and not on what he was rambling on about last night. Louis really doesn't think it's a good idea to tell him, because Harry is like a small deer, vulnerable, friendly and happy until you scare him, and then he bolts and runs for the hills.

“Right then, Mr Styles, you need to eat something so I can drug you with painkillers, so that your head can stop pounding, as I am sure it feels like there's a woodpecker working at your skull currently,” Louis says, trying to be chipper, and Harry just groans.

“What creative metaphors you use, Mr Tomlinson,” Harry cringes, and Louis is sure his words have done more bad than good.

“It's actually a simile, my curly friend, and if you need me, I'll be downstairs preparing my favourite: cereal.”  

Louis wishes he could cook Harry a proper breakfast, because that's what he deserves for putting up with Louis, who cannot console anyone and ruins moments with his sarcastic comments, so he quickly decides he'll grab something fresh from the bakery, as well as Harry's favourite coffee, and maybe have a chat with his grandmother. Three birds with one stone: happy Harry, quality time with his grandmother, and time for Louis to think.

Louis returns to the bedroom to change in to a pair of Harry's sweatpants and grabs one of his jerseys. He rolls up the bottom of the pants and pulls back the sleeves, because Harry is a giant compared to Louis, and it makes it really hard for them to share clothing.

Louis turns around and doesn't spot Harry, and then he hears the rather gruesome sounds of Harry emptying his stomach, the wracked retches and loud bellows echoing from the bathroom, and it makes Louis gag because no, Louis cannot deal with one thing, and that is vomit.

He shudders and waits for a pause in the retching, before calling out that he's going to the bakery to get Harry some proper food, and he gets an “okay-” followed by another round of quieter gagging and the splash of sick hitting water.

Louis grabs his keys and the remote opener that Harry had kindly gifted him one day when he had decided that he was too lazy to constantly get up to open the gate for Louis. Louis thinks its Harry’s way of saying that he's letting Louis in, not just his house but his mind, and is just too shy to say it.

He decides he'd rather walk, and throws his keys in to the cute, hand-painted bowl that's on a table just before the front door, and walks outside.

He's immediately blasted with frigid air that makes his bones feel heavy and his skin sting. He pulls Harry's jersey closer around him and bends his head to keep the wind from bashing in to his face. He kicks the dead leaves that still litter the cracked sidewalk, and watches absent-mindedly as they    crumble beneath his shoes. He breathes in a large breath of cold, dry air and wonders if maybe telling Harry what he said would be the right thing to do.

Louis wanders back to the previous night in his head, thinking back to Harry's words that flitter through his mind.

 

“ _You can't leave me Louis, then I'll have no one._ _”_

_“He was a good father. I was just a disappointing son._ _”_

_“My real father didn't want to be mine either._ _”_

_“All five of us._ _”_

Louis is just confused. He wants to bring it up, because maybe then he'll get the answers he's searching for. Right now, it sounds like Harry's father was a drunk who beat his kid and Harry has a mysterious other sibling that Louis has never heard of. Louis hopes Harry was hallucinating or talking about something else, because he's not sure that Harry's life will be easy to deal with.

He immediately kicks himself mentally, because it's _Harry_. Harry with the gorgeous emerald eyes and the shy smile and the loud laugh that only comes out when he's comfortable. Harry with the soft, subtle touches and beautiful voice that drips with honey and coats Louis in a warm feeling that he didn't even know he could feel. Harry who makes him feel some type of way, like there's hope in the world suddenly, like there's something magical about the leafless branches and the cold, gritty weather. He's never felt like this before, and maybe that's what scares him.

Louis sees the familiar outside of the coffee shop looming up ahead of him, and he debates walking on a little longer, thinking things through a little more, but he knows that there's nothing that he can think of right now that he hasn't already thought of in the long hours he was awake and worried about Harry, making sure he didn't suffocate himself with his own vomit while he was asleep. The only two things that have been bumping back and forth in his head are to tell Harry, or not to tell Harry.

He hears the familiar and somewhat comforting ding of the bell as he pushes open the door, and the shop is quite busy, bustling with Uni students studying with a hot cuppa next to them, or sitting and reading a book to relax and unwind from the stress.

Louis still has three more exams that he needs to get studying for, but the normal things seem mediocre now compared to what he's dealing with. Like his potentially-fucked up boyfriend who's hiding all the reasons as to why he is the way he is.

Louis thinks he's should probably stop thinking of Harry as fucked up, but he's naturally blunt and he thinks these things before his conscious has time to realize and stop him from saying it. He's just tainted, is all. That's it, tainted.

Louis rolls his eyes at himself before stepping up to the glass cases containing the mouth-watering delicacies that Louis absolutely adores. He orders some pastries for Harry and himself, before ordering their coffees and going back to find his grandmother.

“Louis!” He hears before he sees her, and a Daisy emerges with a massive grin on her face.

“Granny! How are you?” He matches her smile with an equally-dazzling one of his own, reaching down to hug his grandmother.

“Lovely, darling! What about you? How are exams?” She asks excitedly, squeezing Louis’ arms.

“They're frustrating and terrible, but I think I'm going to do well,” Louis says, laughing and shaking his head. “How've things been down here?”

“Splendid! There’s so much business lately because you kids need a place to study or hang out. Loads of people ask for you, you know.”

“Really, how come?” Louis is puzzled.

Daisy gets this sly look that's incredibly scary on an eighty-year-old woman. “They all say that you're dating Harry. They all want to talk to you. All say they're your friend and that they miss you.”

Louis is taken aback, but at the same time, he kind of expected this to happen. Harry is blowing up, almost everyone knows about him, and being closely associated with him will probably earn him a few glances and things.

He's not sure if Harry wants them to go public, though. They've never spoken about it, but Louis can imagine that he has to speak to his management team, discuss fine details and plans, and even then, they might not be able to go public. Louis decides that maybe he shouldn't say anything yet, because he doesn't want to jeopardize Harry's career, but then again, would he feel like Louis doesn't want to be seen with him? Louis never knows with Harry.

And he doesn't want their relationship to be publicized, and he's sure Harry doesn't either. He wants a normal relationship, where they can go out and laugh and do things together without the media commenting on it or his management forcing them to be in the public's eye.

“We're not together,” Louis laughs. “He's my best mate.”

Daisy wiggles her eyebrows, and giggles. “You can always tell me anything, Louis. And he's quite the catch.”

“I know Gran, I know,” Louis chuckles. “But he's got his eye on someone else.”

“Do tell!”

“No way! You'll leak it to all your bridge friends! And they'll use their iPhones to tell the press!”

“Oh please, Louis. You know I'm not up to date on all this phone stuff,” Daisy tuts, and Louis giggles.

They call Louis’ order, and he says goodbye to his grandmother, grabbing his and Harry's breakfast, and he turns around and runs smack bang in to someone behind him.

Luckily, nothing spills or drops, he just looks dazedly at the face in front of him that looks very apologetic.

“Sorry, mate! Didn't see you there,” Louis apologizes, shifting all his food around so it balances easily in his grip.

“My fault entirely! Hey, it's you, Lou! Fancy seeing you here,” the boy he recognizes as Matt wiggles his eyebrows.

“Matt! How're you doing? Haven't seen you in ages, man,” Louis smiles, cocking his head to the side.

“Great man, great. Grimmy tells me you're off the market, that you're with that Styles kid. That indie singer?” Matt questions, and Louis’ heart thuds.

“He's obviously got it wrong,” Louis hopes his voice sounds okay, “Harry's my best mate.”

“Oh, well, nevermind then,” Matt scratches the back of his head. “You guys okay now?”

“I will never be okay with that prick,” Louis growls, rolling his eyes. “But the past is the past. Best thing to do would be to brush him off and pretend he doesn't exist.”

“He still talks about you, you know,” Matt mutters under his breath. “Can't believe you're doing the boyfriend thing. Louis Tomlinson, having a _boyfriend_.”

“I told you he's not my boyfriend,” Louis snarls, glaring viciously at Matt.

“I know, I'm just saying that's what he said,” Matt says, putting his hands up in defense. “I'm sorry if I offended you by saying that...somehow. We should all go out again soon, we miss you Tommo. We'd obviously go out minus Grimmy, but yeah. Would be nice.”

“Yeah,” Louis agrees half-heatedly, “maybe after exams. Catch you later? Gotta deliver these.”

“Of course, Lou. See you, mate.”

“Cheers.”

Louis walks out of the shop, the terrible cold matching his dampened mood. He has to talk to Harry about their relationship before anything else, and he'll be forced to either tell Grimmy they broke up, or threaten him to keep his mouth shut. Louis isn't looking forward to any of it.

When he finally trudges up the steps in to Harry's room, it's silent, save for Harry rolling around in bed and moaning incessantly. He grabs Harry gently by the arm and rolls him over on to his back, pushing back his curls and kissing his forehead.

“I've got food, love,” he whispers soothingly.

“Don't wanna eat. Not hungry. Want to die,” Harry moans in pain, and Louis feels a pang in his heart at how much his boy his hurting.

“Come on, get in the shower so you're fresh and I'll help you downstairs so that we can eat,” Louis offers, helping Harry on to his feet.

“Okay,” he agrees, his eyes half shut as he lets Louis guide him towards the shower.

He sits Harry on the toilet seat, turning on the shower so that it's just right, and helps Harry strip out of his clothing. It's a bit awkward, because they've never seen each other naked before, not when they were both conscious at least, and Harry doesn't seem to care as he pulls everything off and stalks clumsily in to the shower.

Harry's _big_.

Louis shakes the thoughts out of his head and waits outside for Harry to finish showering, paying careful attention and looking for the sound of a body collapsing on the floor. Thankfully, Harry saunters out a few minutes later with a fluffy towel wrapped around his waist and a blurry look in his eyes. He looks slightly better, but his skin is still paler than usual, and his eyes are bloodshot and drooping, and his movements are slow, like every creak of the drawers pierce his ears, and every movement sends a pang of pain shooting through his head. Louis looks away as he gets dressed, cheeks growing red, his mind moving back to the image of Harry's naked bum and the glance that Louis got of his manly parts.

Harry flops down on the bed, dressed in grey sweatpants and a loose fitting jersey that looks so soft and warm that Louis wants to cuddle in it. He grabs Harry by the hand and leads him cautiously down the stairs, careful that his clumsy frame and gangly limbs don't slip on the sleek tiles. Harry sits down on the couch, his face falling in to the pillows, and Louis just laughs and grabs the pastries from the kitchen, as well as Harry's coffee.

“Eat a little and drink some of this, and then I can give you loads of painkillers,” Louis promises, handing Harry a small delicacy.

Harry bites it and immediately goes green in the face, swallows thickly, and chews slowly. He looks traumatized by the small piece of pastry, and eventually swallows the first bite, almost gagging afterwards. It's a process, but Louis just rubs his back as he eats, trying to focus on the television playing mindlessly in front of them instead of Harry's gagging.

“Love, can I ask you something?” Louis starts, rubbing nonsensical patterns on Harry skin.

“Yeah?” he replies weakly, lying back on the couch and closing his eyes.

“Do you want to, um, like, tell people about us and stuff? ’Cause like, loads of people think we're together, and I didn't really confirm anything, cause I didn't know how you felt about it. What do you want to do?”

Harry seems to stiffen and turn a shade whiter (if that's even possible at this point), his eyes not meeting Louis’ as he stares at a spot on the couch between them. He seems to be closing up, his eyes clouding over and his fingers shaking.

“Do we have to talk about this now? I'm really not feeling well, Lou. Just wanna take some painkillers and get some rest, you know?” Harry murmurs, his eyes still not meeting Louis’.

“It's okay if you don't want to say anything. You're blowing up massively, Haz, and like, being gay or bisexual or having a boyfriend isn't very good publicity for you. I understand. It could ruin everything. I just want you to know I'm okay with anything that you wanna do. I don't want our relationship to be taken advantage of and publicized, but like, I also don't want to not be able to tell my best mates, you know?”

“It's just that...” Harry trails off. “Like, I want to tell people. I want to show you off proudly Lou, but Rebecca said that being with a guy is bad publicity for me and it ruins careers, and I don't want to choose between you and my future. Because it would be nice to see you in my future. I wanna do what I love but I also wanna be with you, and it's just hard.”

Louis is saddened by Harry's words. There's no way he'd force an ultimatum on Harry. That wouldn't be fair. He would never make Harry choose between him and his job. Just no. He sees where Harry's coming from, and understands completely.

“How about we wait until you're mega, super famous, hey? And then like, everyone will love you no matter what. I'll be by your side as your best friend until I can be by your side as your boyfriend. I don't mind at all. As long as I have you.”

Harry leans forward and kisses Louis on the forehead, his lips staying there for several seconds to make up for not being able to kiss him on the mouth. His cheeks are red and his eyes are glassy, and not from the hangover. He looks at Louis with those wide, beautiful eyes that resemble a freshly rained-upon forest, and whispers, “Thank you, Lou. Thank you for understanding. I was afraid you'd leave because of it.”

“I can handle a few secrets, Curly. Don't you worry. Now here, let me fetch you some painkillers and take you back to bed so you can rest.”

“You're an angel sent from heaven, Lou. _Mon ange_.”

“Yeah yeah, _je suis grand et marron_ and all that.”

“You just said ‘I am big and brown.’”

“You never know, Harold. You haven't seen all of me yet. Could be hiding some things below the belt.”

“Seriously?”

“No. Niall told me that meant ‘I am the greatest’. The little shit.”

Harry bursts out laughing, a loud, beautiful sound that makes Louis’ insides puddle, and he decides that that is most definitely his new favourite sound.

 

 

~

 

 

Louis leaves Harry’s house early the next day, his eyes bleary and his body consuming cups of caffeine after caffeine on his way to Uni. Harry was still asleep when he clambered about the dark room to get dressed to write his exam. Louis wishes that he was done will all of this, all of this stress and examinations. He spent the most of the previous night at Harry’s desk in his study, going over his drama notes for the exam that he's currently on his way to write. He's excited, because he's majoring in English, but is also doing a minor in Dramatic Arts. He's loved drama ever since he was Danny Zuko in _Grease_ , and John Proctor in _The Crucible._ He's played several other characters, and enjoyed almost every single one. There are plays that the Uni puts on every year, but Louis hasn’t had the guts to try out. He wishes he did, because he would love be to a part of a cast again, would love to slip in and become another person for the two or three months he would be working on it. The truth is, Louis is just afraid of rejection. There are kids at his Uni that are honestly so amazing that Louis stares at them in awe as they do an unprepared monologue in drama class, and Louis doesn’t quite think that its fair. Maybe he’ll audition this year.

He turns in to Uni and proceeds to start the trek to his exam. With every step he becomes more and more stressed, his head churning and trying to remember as much information as possible. His feet squeak against the floor because he doesn’t have enough energy to lift them up. The caffeine has kicked in, and he's shaking and his heart is pulsing.

It’s a two-hour written paper, followed by a practical. Louis has to get on stage and perform a monologue that he's been preparing for ages now. He knows that if he does really well now, his lecturer will urge him to try out for next year’s play.

Once these exams are done, Louis is off for Christmas holidays until he comes back in January. He's excited because this means that he can spend so much more time with Harry.

 

The exam goes well, and so does Louis’ practical, and as he walks off stage, he tries to find an imperfection in his performance, but there really is none. He feels chuffed with himself, because he can hear his voice in his head – clear and loud with the perfect American twang that was a requirement for his practical. His eyes meet those of his professor, and he claps slowly with a broad grin.

“Louis Tomlinson, the football star, and the soon-to-be star of the dramatic arts,” Professor Aiken smiles, patting Louis on the shoulder. “I would love you to audition for next year’s production.”

“I’ve been thinking about it for years,” Louis admits with a shy smile. “Never really had the guts to do it. There was just too much talent.”

“And there still is,” says Professor Aiken, “but you’re definitely somewhere at the top.”

Louis leave with a massive smile on his face and his body swamped with hope.

He wonders if he should go back to Harry’s, make sure he's okay after the hell he went through yesterday, but he knows that he should probably just go home. He fights the urge to go back to Harry’s place and turns on to the cobblestone walk towards his dorm.

He finds Niall in their dorm, his face buried in a bowl of chips and his fingers attacking the buttons of the game controller.

“Hey Lou! Where have you been?” Niall asks through a mouth of crisps.

“Harry’s,” he replies, toeing his shoes off and flopping down next to Niall on the leather couch. He grabs a controller and immediately enters them in to multiplayer, stopping Niall’s game.

“Hey you cunt,” Niall shoves him playfully.

The boys spend the rest of the day playing around, and although it is probably as productive as him going over to Harry’s, its nice to be around Niall again. He hasn’t spent good quality time with the blonde Irishman lately, and this feels good. Almost like home.

Although there's a certain curly-haired lad that seems to have stolen the title of _home_ away from Niall and even his own childhood home back in Doncaster.

“You and Harry are getting pretty serious, huh?” Niall asks as guts spew on the screen.

“Wouldn’t say that. He's really amazing, but we’re not that serious,” Louis replies, but it sounds like a lie in his ears.

“Have you been staying over at his place?”

“Yeah.”

“Sharing clothes?”

“Yeah…”

“Calling him cute pet names that make people want to vomit?”

“Maybe.”

“Fucked him?”

“Nope.”

Niall pauses their game and looks at him in outrage. Louis wants to laugh at his wide cerulean eyes and messy blonde hair that falls in his face.

“How could you not have done him yet? You’re almost always up each others’ arses, why not put yourself there literally?”

Louis chokes on the crisp in his mouth and coughs loudly. Truth is that he's never…done it with a boy before. He's done some things with Nick (unfortunately), but he's never had sex with a boy. He's done countless girls, and that’s really not scary, but the idea of sticking his prick up someone’s _arse_ is kind of revolting to him. He has definitely thought about sex with Harry, and gotten off to it a few times too, but the idea of it actually happening to both daunting and amazing.

“Do you want to do him?”

“More than anything in the world, Ni. I’m just not sure that he's ready like, mentally.”

Louis and Niall have always been open with each other, no matter how vile or disgusting their topics of conversation are. He loves how he can have a serious conversation about sex with his boyfriend with his best friend over a game and food.

“So why don’t you talk about it?” Niall questions him.

“I’m not sure, like, I don’t want him to think I’m only in it for the sex, but I also don’t want to scare him off. If the idea of getting physical is really scary for them, then I don’t want to bring it up. I’d rather let him bring it up first.”

“You might just be permanently blue in the balls if he really is afraid.”

“That’s okay though. I’d do anything for him.”

"Anything?"

Louis smiles dreamily. "Anything."

  
~

 

Harry thinks that him and Louis are quite possibly moving a tad fast.

And he’s not sure whether it’s because he’s always overthinking things, or because they’re actually rushing in to things. They’ve only been together a couple weeks, known each other for two or so months, and they were already so close before, but Harry’s already thinking about a future with Louis by his side, and he’s not sure if that would scare Louis more than it scares himself.

Harry can get quite scared, so possibly not.

He feels like he's known Louis for such a long time, and that's why they're so comfortable around each other. They can kiss and cuddle and talk about mindless things, and even about the near future, and about them being together, because both of them are that sure that they won't get sick and tired of each other. Harry hasn’t questioned the future he's thinking about right now.

He knows that Louis cares about him; from the way he peppers kisses over Harry’s face while they lie together on the couch, or the way he make sure that Harry is okay every day, and the way he holds him close when Harry has a bad dream or one of those terrible days where he questions why Louis is even there, why anyone is there for him, when his anxiety gets the better of him.

Harry was slightly anxious (shocker – right?) when Louis said that he hadn't a clue how to treat a person in a relationship, but he found himself shaking his head with a smile on his face when he thought about it, because Louis was the most amazing boyfriend Harry could ever ask for. He was kind and patient, and although he couldn't talk about problems and was a terrible comforter when it came to meaningful words, Louis had learned by now just to shut up and hold Harry tight enough that all his broken pieces would slot back together temporarily.

Harry hasn't seen Louis in roughly seven days, because Louis is finishing up all of his exams, and Harry, once again, has been busy with promotions. It's all becoming a bit of a cycle; Louis does his schoolwork and plays his football, Harry works several hours of the day, and the two are brought together when Harry has a meltdown of some sorts.

He hates putting all his baggage on Louis, especially because Louis has no idea what the hell to do with it. Harry wants to open up to Louis, he really does, but the few times he has, Louis has shrugged apologetically and said things like “wow, um, ’m sorry Haz.”  

And that didn't make Harry feel any worse about himself, nope.

Not in the slightest.

He wonders often if maybe Louis has his own reasons for being a terrible comforter, but he's scared that this is going to be a major problem in their relationship, because Harry is sort've this big baby that gets afraid of the dark and he needs Louis to whisper kind things in his ear to calm him down. He's so grateful for Louis, he just wishes that they could connect on a deeper level by just talking about themselves to each other.

There have been times that Louis has been extremely comforting, like when it comes to Harry's social issues and his confidence. Louis has boosted Harry's confidence immensely, and as long as Louis is by Harry's side when he meets people, he's able to communicate kind of well because he wants Louis to look at him with those glittery eyes that shine with pride when he does well.

Harry just reckons that maybe he's scared that Louis doesn't want him as much as Harry wants the blue-eyed boy.

It's four in the afternoon, and Harry in his song room, lazing about on the pillows on the windowsill, his guitar in his hands as his fingers pluck the strings lazily, eliciting a sweet melody that carries throughout the house. He's got the window open, and the crisp air blows his hair and makes his face numb and his nose slightly red, but he doesn't mind. He breathes in the fresh air and closes his eyes, leaning back and strumming.

His mind is on Louis, (because let's be honest, when is it not?) and he's humming a random melody, his lips parting in a smile.

 

_Little Lou,_

_There's one thing that makes me happy,_

_And it's youuuuuu._

_Oh, little Lou._

_Your eyes make me quiver,_

_They look the best against the snow,_

_And that's when I start to...shiver._

“Wow mate, that's a bestseller if I've ever heard one,” he hears a perky Irish voice waft through the house.

He yells in fright, just a little, and no, it wasn't squeaky. It was manly...sort've.

“How the fuck did you get in to my house?” Harry questions, his heart thumping wildly against his chest.

“I tried calling, but you didn't answer,” Niall shrugs, plopping down next to Harry on the soft cushions of the windowsill. “It's freezing in here, mate.”

“Helps me think,” Harry says softly, before turning his scrutinizing gaze back to Niall. “That didn't answer my question.”

“I'm an avid climber.”

“You climbed over my wall? Harry shrieks, astonished.

“Yes, Harry. Ten points to Griffindor.”

Harry stares at him blankly, before shaking his head and cracking a smile. He will not admit that it was a funny joke.

“To what do I owe this breaking and entering?”

Niall grins broadly, his pearly teeth straight and glimmering. He'd obviously had braces in the past.

Harry likes Niall, because he's constantly chipper and always on the wild side of things. He makes Harry feel happy, slightly reckless and good about himself, just by being in his presence, and Harry is never nervous to be around him because Niall is the most laid-back guy ever. He never worried about anything, and when he did, he just said, “Fuck it”, and drank a pint of beer.

Harry wishes he were Irish.

“Liam and Louis are writing their final exams tomorrow, so they're up the whole of tonight studying, and I finished on Friday, and I'm really bored, and you don't go to Uni, so you're not writing exams-”

“I'll be married and on my fifth kid by the time you finish this story, Niall.”

Harry also loves Niall because he brings out the sassy, sarcastic side of him that he had no idea he possessed. He's caught a lot of it from being around Louis, who asks every question rhetorically and answers every one with words that drip with sarcasm. It's a new look for Harry, and he thinks he rather likes it more than being shy and helpless the whole time.

He's never had friends that have made him feel this way. This confident, sassy way that's so appealing to Harry. He's almost addicted to it, because people actually take notice of him and laugh at his jokes and sarcasm, and it leaves Harry with a warm feeling because people _like_ him and people _want_ to be around him.

He wishes that he could steal some of the confidence he possesses with his friends and use it when he's out in public, because as soon as there's an interview that he has to do or a song he has to sing, he immediately becomes nervous and retreats back in to his shell, hiding himself from the world and only releasing small whispers of words for answers.

“I want you to come to a party with me,” Niall makes a cute pouty face, fluttering his eyelashes.

“Niall, it's Sunday night.”

“Yeah I know, but like, hear me out. This girl I really like, right, she's throwing it and she invited me like, personally. Came up t' me and everything! Please come with me,” Niall practically begs, getting on his knees in front of Harry.

And no, that doesn't spark any thoughts about Louis in front of him whatsoever.

Harry sighs, because he knows that he's not one for parties, especially college parties that will be filled with horny teenagers smoking and drinking and doing drugs, because Harry's been to one of those before, and it was the worst experience of his life.

“I'm, 'm not really in to that stuff,” Harry mumbles, looking down.

He doesn't want to seem like a prude to Niall, like a small boy trapped in a large body with limited social skills.

Even though that’s the best description of what he is.

“If Louis came, would you go?”

“No, Niall. Louis has to study; it's his last one. Let him finish it up and I'll come to the next one with you, promise,” Harry nods fervently, because Louis has to study; Harry's not dragging him away from his studies again. “Why don't to go with Nick? Do you know him?”

“Nick?” Niall snorts loudly, almost laughing at the idea. “He's cool I guess, but Louis would shoot me.”

“What's with those two, anyway? Louis hates him, and he won't tell me why.”

Harry feels terrible for digging in to Louis’ life like this, without actually asking Louis first, but whenever he approaches the subject of Nick, the older boy looks at him with fiery eyes and grinds his jaw, before rolling his eyes and saying, “just stay away from the twat.”

“To he honest, I don't know much either. Louis is terrible at opening up,” Niall admitted, grabbing one of Harry's guitars and picking at the strings with expertise. Harry is intrigued, because Niall is actually amazing with a guitar, but he's brought out of his thoughts when Niall's scratchy voice carries on.

“Apparently they had a thing goin’ on, those two. It ended badly, really badly, and I'm not sure why. Louis has never had a proper boyfriend before you, but we all thought Nick would be the first one. Before he got round to asking Tommo out though, something happened and it left Louis a mess. We all used to hang out together, the four of us, including Zayn before he left, and Nick and his mate, Matt. We were good friends. Now we don't talk anymore.”

“And you say he never told you what happened?” Harry bites his lip, chewing it anxiously as he crosses his legs.

Niall shakes his head. “He got really weird though, like drink until I pass out drunk and he tried doing some drugs too. No one really knows why, but he knocked himself out of it before we had to intervene.”

The room is silent, save for the wind whooshing past them outside and the knocking of the window as the air blows it open and closed. Harry doesn't know what to think. He looks down, his lip still caught between his teeth, his eyebrows knitted together in concentration. He couldn't believe that his Louis, his happy, strong, intelligent, independent, sassy and snarky Louis could stoop so low. Harry almost wishes Niall never said anything, because now it's going to eat away at him until he asks Louis, and he definitely doesn't want to do that.

“I wish he'd talk to me more,” Harry finds himself murmuring, and Niall seems to catch it because of the silence around them.

“I've known Lou for years now, and he hasn't opened up to me either. He's very secretive, but you learn to push it away, and just be there for him when he needs it. There's no other way you can be close to him.”

“But what if I can get him to open up? Like, maybe he'll talk to me, cause I'm his first boyfriend and stuff.”

“Don't push your luck, Harry. He gets seriously defensive and rude when you pry in to his life and his past. I've gotten a black eye from him because I decided enough was enough and that we needed to talk. Yeah, he's told me some deep things on occasion, but that’s literally twice or three times in sixteen years.”

“He wouldn't hurt me. Louis would never hurt me,” Harry says confidently, before faltering. “Right?”

“Not intentionally, no Harry. I don’t think he would.”

The boys drop the conversation, much to Harry's dismay, and they find themselves at a pub an hour later, getting early drinks and chattering away. The tension from earlier has been lifted, replaced with alcohol and snacks and all the good things in life. He's laughing with Niall and some other men at the bar, and although he hasn't a clue as to who they are, Niall talks to them like they're his best mates.

Harry finds himself exiting the conversation to send Louis a quick text.

  _Hey love, your lovely Irish friend has dragged me to a pub...is he always this friendly with old men? xx_

 Harry locks his phone and puts it in his pocket, and he feels it buzz just as Niall orders another round of drinks. He's not feeling drunk yet, just a little warm and fuzzy. His cheeks are tainted rose and his eyes are glistening.

  _Watch out for the pedophiles, little boy.  And if anyone tries to make a move, tell him or her you've got a six foot three wall of muscle for a boyfriend that will literally rip them to shreds. xx_

 Harry actually laughs out loud because Louis is actually ridiculous. Niall gives him a knowing look and winks, before turning back to talk to a brunette girl with long legs and a large bust that would get Harry hard if he weren't so in to Louis.

  _Lou...you're barely five nine..._

   _But I am a wall of muscle, right?_

  Harry smirks and bites the corner of his lip.

  _I prefer your gorgeous arse and those lovely thighs of yours ;) You don ’t need to be a wall of muscle with those ASSets ;)_

  Harry literally gets a picture two minutes later of Louis’ arse, his underwear straining against it, and his muscular, thick thighs that curve out underneath him.

Harry squeaks and locks his phone, and is luckily not heard by anyone around him because of the loud bellowing of drunkards and the music in the background. Harry feels this awkward sensation in his pants, and he looks down to see his jeans tight around a bulge.

He doesn't know what to feel, because he's this awkward teenager who has never done anything remotely sexual with another person, hell, he's never even masturbated before. He tried once, but his mum walked in on him and luckily didn't suspect anything, because he had only just picked it up and started examining it underneath his duvet, and when she walked in without knocking he quickly released it and pretended to be asleep.

Harry took it as a sign that maybe he shouldn't do it again.

  _Did you die because of how sexy I am or how hard you just got?_

 Harry receives the text from Louis, and he knows the answer to the question is both, but he's never done this before and he can't believe that him and Louis are doing it.

But now, he's got this weird sensation swirling in his stomach, and for once, he feels like he should react to it. His cheeks warm when he goes to reply and the photo pops up again.

  _You're so hot, love. I adore your body. Good luck for your exam tomorrow. Can't wait to see you. Xx_

  _That exam comment killed my boner. Have sweat dreams, hopefully about me xx_

_Don't you mean sweet?_

_Nope ;)_

 Harry's stomach pools with warmth and he gulps, shutting off his phone and putting his head in his hands to muffle his grin, and crossing his legs to muffle his hard on.

The rest of the night, Harry takes some shots with Niall and the older guys, who Harry found out were actually Niall's distant cousins and their mates, as it turned out. Harry decides that Irish people are his new favourite species.

And that he may be slightly drunk.

It's not the drunk that he was the other night, and he can barely remember it, but he remembers the sad, sinking feeling inside of him, and he doesn't want to feel that again. He's having fun, he’s with Niall, and Niall has christened Harry as one of his best mates in a drunks slur, and it's made Harry extremely happy.

It's only seven thirty, and Harry's shameless about it. Niall's people have left to go clubbing, but Niall hadn't felt like it, and now they're sipping at beers instead of cocktails made with several different alcohols.

“Hey Niall, now that we're best mates and stuff... Do you wanna see my favourite place?” Harry asks in a whisper, as if it's a secret.

“It's not a gay bar or strip club is it?” Niall tries to whisper back, but he seems confused, and Harry laughs.

“No, come on.”

They slink through the darkening streets, both tripping a few times, and Niall almost falls on a homeless person, and Harry gives the poor man fifty quid to apologize, and he seems more than happy after that. Niall wraps his arm around Harry's shoulder, which is rather hard, because Niall is a good couple inches shorter, just a tad taller than Louis. But then again, everyone is a tad taller than Louis.

The thought makes Harry smile and erupt in fond giggles.

The sidewalks are bustling with people, the streets filled with cars all hooting at each other and trying to get home. Harry has to concentrate really hard when he crosses the road with the blonde haired boy, because the lines kind of swirl and he doesn't know which ones to walk across. They eventually make it across safely and Harry blows an exaggerated sigh of relief.

He sees the windows of the coffee shop, the insides lit up faintly with low hanging vintage chandeliers and fairy lights across the walls. Harry smiles, proud, because he was the one who suggested they get fairy lights.

Harry takes Niall by the arm and drags him to the coffee shop, the familiar bell dinging as he opens the door. He greets the girl standing behind the counter, because he recognizes her but can't remember her name through his drunken haze.

They slump in the back booth that's Harry's favourite, and he finds himself babbling on to Niall about how he first set his eyes on Louis in this very booth.

“Ah, Niall, you should've seen him. His hair was so soft and his eyes were so bright, and I just thought he was the most gorgeous person I've ever seen. I could barely talk to him because I was too shy,” Harry gushes, and Niall just looks so interested that it's comical.

“That's amazing Haz,” he says with bright eyes that shine from the alcohol. “He spoke about you too. Like, he came to footie practice one day and was like “there's this indie singer, Harry Styles, and he comes to my grandmother's coffee shop like every day, and he's just so interesting and I'd love to get to know him.”

“He said that about me? That's so amazing,” Harry sighs, feeling mushy inside as he stares at Niall dreamily. “He's so perfect. He makes me so happy, Louis does. And everything's so new and adventurous!”

“Oh Hazzy, my little Harold. Let's get married.”

“Oh Niall. If only I could marry you and Lou. And Liam. And everyone in this beautiful, magical world.”

The waiter comes then, and Harry's bummed that it isn't Louis, because he really wants to see his beautiful boyfriend, and get a good look at his arse in person.

Yeah, Harry is very drunk.

Harry orders his favourite, and Niall orders and Irish Coffee (no surprise there from the proud little Irishman), and Harry's warm and happy and in his element as he stares outside at the gorgeous city lights, and the faint streaks of moonlight that coat everything in watery brightness and make everything seem happier and brighter. There are people walking past the window, couples and parents and children and everyone and Harry just loves seeing people laugh and be happy. He's looking at the gloomy light of a street lamp across the street when he sees a familiar face standing underneath it, his hands wrapped around another body.

“Niall, are you Irish or is that Liam?” Harry squints in to the dull lighting. He thinks he's obsessed with Niall’s Irish-ness.

“I think both? I'm not sure... Is that a trick question?” Niall asks, his eyebrows knitted together.

“No, seriously. Look.”

And Harry grabs Niall's face by his cheeks that were made to be pinched by grandmothers, squishing his face up against the window. Niall's mumbling something but Harry's telling him to shush and squishes his on face against the window.

People that walk past are giving them strange looks, but Harry just licks the window and winks at them and they either laugh and raise their eyebrows and walk faster.

Harry can see the unmistakable outline of Liam's hair and his jawline, and can faintly see his pouty lips and broad silhouette, and he knows it's most definitely Liam.

“My god it is Liam!” Niall gasps after a few seconds of staring.

“Who's he talking to?” Harry asks enthusiastically, feeling like a spy.

“It's some girl... Or guy... I can't really see... My eyes are closing because you're pushing me so hard against the fuckin’ window,” Niall swears, and Harry pulls his cheek and kisses it and apologizes before they look again.

Liam is walking away with the mystery person, but Harry can see their fingers linking and Liam pressing a kiss to their cheek. Harry squeals because it's so cute, and all the students in the coffee shop stop reading their textbooks to turn and look at them.

“Don't you have some studying to do?” Niall hollers, and everyone sighs or grimaces and returns back to their work.

Harry giggles and gives Niall a high-five, before slumping back in his seat and finishing his forgotten coffee. It's still warm and the whipped cream is still rich and soft against his palate, and he just loves this coffee so much and it makes him so happy.

“Wanna sleep over tonight?” Harry offers, because he's feeling so generous and he loves Niall's company. It makes Harry feel loved and important and good about himself.

“I thought you'd never ask, Curly. My best friend,” Niall actually sheds a tear and hugs Harry close to him, petting his mounds of curls that are sprawled atop his head, and he just doesn't have the energy or a care to fix said mess of hair.

“I know you like me... But we can't do anything cause I like Louie,” Harry says determinedly, shaking his head at Niall's pout.

“I'm straight, Harry, all I want is a cuddle to make up for my lack of womanly companions," Niall replies, and Harry is shocked that he can use such big words under such a large influence.

_He's Irish, you idiot._

Shut up about his Irish-ness already.

Niall has probably had so much more alcohol than Harry, but he has such a tolerance for it that it seems that Harry has had a whole bottle and a half more than Niall.

They both finish their coffees, and Harry knows he's going to regret drinking this much, because he's sobered up a bit now and he's realized just how bad he's going to feel tomorrow.

“The night is still young, little Harold! What do you suggest we do?” Niall wiggles his eyebrows, jogging to keep up with Harry's long, slightly off-kilter strides.

“I'm not little. You are. What do you suggest?” Harry giggles, wrapping his arm around Niall's shoulders.

A stream of paps that seem to appear out of nowhere ambush them, their cameras blinding and flashing cutting off Niall’s sentence. Harry smiles and waves, throwing piece signs and small giggles towards them. Niall seems to be amazed and throws his thumbs up, smiling really big and getting really excited over being photographed.

“Harry, is he your boyfriend?” One of the photographers yells over the crowd.

“Don't be daft, ye idiot,” Niall rolls his eyes, yelling, “his boyfriend is-”

Harry claps a hand over Niall's mouth and shakes his head no, his eyes wide and frantic. Niall nods and bites Harry's hand, and he laughs and flicks Niall's nose.

“Who's your boyfriend then, Harry? Tell us!” They all start yelling, and it's hurting Harry's ears, and he can't concentrate because of all the alcohol running through his system and all the noise and flashing lights.

“Don't have a boyfriend,” Harry says, ducking his head down and walking forward, dragging Niall along with him.

“Is it that Louis Tomlinson boy you were with?” another one yells, and Harry can't do this anymore.

They seemed to all have accumulated on the streets, and so have teenage girls with their cellphones, yelling for Harry to take a photo with them. The noise level is growing and Harry knows he's going to pass out, have an anxiety attack, or throw up.

The vodka in his system decides on the latter.

He quickly runs towards a bush, leaning over emptying the burning contents of his stomach, throwing up repeatedly, the acid and alcohol burning his throat. He groans, and people are still taking photos, but Niall has covered him, ushering the people away, and the girls actually start pulling the paps away from Harry, and he's so thankful for their respect. He's on his knees, gagging, but nothing else will come up, and he sighs and wipes his mouth with the back of his sleeve, cringing when he sees a line of drool and vomit on his favourite shirt.

Harry has to call Rebecca to get him out of this mess, and she calls the police, who arrive within minutes, and grab Harry and usher him through the crowd. He's sure there's about a hundred people crowding around him, surrounding him and making him feel even sicker than he already is.

A special black van is waiting for him and Niall, and they're shoved in and the door is closed on them.

“How're you feeling?” Niall asks cautiously, tapping Harry on the shoulder.

“I, ’m alright,” Harry mumbles, because his throat is dry and his mouth tastes disgusting and he really doesn't feel like talking.

“How cool was that though? Oh god, and now we're getting a fuckin’ police escort! Harry, you've made it big! Like, the paps wanted shots of you and there were so many! And so many girls too! You're blowing up and I was right there with you! I'll be your famous tag along,” Niall gushes because he's proud of himself for being with Harry.

“I've made it big, Ni. I'm gonna be massive,” Harry sighs dreamily, agreeing with Niall.

His mind is clouded with the thoughts of stardom and people knowing who he is, and he's excited. He cannot wait for it.

Harry watches the blue and red flashing lights that are all around them, the two motorbikes that are flanking them left and right, and the police cars in front and behind them.

Harry signs in to twitter and follows Niall, and Niall starts swearing because of all the followers he's getting. Harry has almost 500K, and the number grows everyday, and it's so amazing. Louis already has 10K after being seen with Harry at the fashion awards. Harry goes on to his feed and follows a couple of fans while they're driving, making idle chatter with Niall that doesn't even make sense, when he sees that Harry Styles is trending in England.

It's no surprise that _SugarScape_ has gotten photos of Harry being sick in the bushes, but he's even more surprised when he sees photos of him laughing with Niall in the bar, and even them fooling around in the coffee shop. It's like he doesn't have any privacy anymore; and the thought scares him. He clicks the link to their website and reads their article on him.

 

 

**_HARRY STYLES, OUR SUGAR BABY IS ALL GROWN UP_ **

 

_Harry has been partying it up tonight, in a bar with older men (wink ;)) and his new apparent bestie, Niall Horan, who in actual fact, is also a close mate of Louis Tomlinson._

_The two were seen taking shots and laughing their pretty little heads off at a local bar in London, although our little Louis seemed to be missing. They then moved on to a coffee shop, where they proceeded to make obscene faces at people walking by, and we have to admit, these are hilarious._

_Lastly though, the paps caught up with Harry and Niall walking home, where Harry proceeded to graciously gift the bushes around him the awesome present of some of his vomit, which would be gross to anyone but us, because anything that comes out of that pretty boy is gold. A police escort then drove them home, because if you're Harry then you're fancy, obvs._

_But our favourite part of tonight was seeing how dashing Harry looked in his ripped skinny jeans and soft and silky Saint Laurent shirt that was buttoned down to reveal his chiseled chest and gorgeous tattoos, (we combusted) as well his brown fedora and lovely matching boots. You go, Glen Coco._

 

 

“Hey, Niall, my bunny bum, go look at _SugarScape_ , you're mentioned in their article!” Harry says excitedly, because people are noticing him.

“You're shitting me,” Niall eyes grow wide, his mouth curving in to an excited smile.

“They even know your last name.”

“That's scary, I'm scared now. Help me.”

Harry just laughs at Niall and grins drunkenly to himself, his body still warm and buzzing. He wants to drink a little bit more, because now that he vomited, he's feeling better and he wants to have more of a good time.

He goes on to Louis’ twitter page, because he loves seeing that photo of him and Louis on the red carpet as his profile picture, but he looks down and sees that Louis has actually just tweeted him.

 

_@Louis_Tomlinson: @Harry_Styles are you alright?_

_@Harry_Styles: @Louis_Tomlinson never better baby cakes ;)_

 

Harry grins cheekily and sends Louis a picture of Niall in the van, and the lights flashing brightly outside, and tells him how much fun he's had and how much he wishes Louis was with them. Him and Niall are almost at his house when Harry's phone lights up with a call from Louis.

“Louis, love!” Harry exclaims, because his angel was calling him and he missed the sweet soft sugar sound of Louis’ voice.

_That's a lot of s's._

“I'm never letting you out with Niall again,” Louis grumbles, half-jokingly.

“My angel baby cupcake pie, I had so much fun tonight, Niall even said I'm his best friend!” Harry throws a wink to Niall, and Niall yells, “Yes! He's great mate!”

“You really love your pet names,” Louis sighs; fond evident in his silky voice, and Harry finds himself slightly groaning at the sound of it.

“Fuck I love your voice,” Harry growls, low enough so that Niall doesn't hear.

“I think it's time you went to bed,” Louis chuckles, but Harry can hear that he's flustered because his voice has raised several octaves.

“You left me with a bit of situation earlier,” Harry says breathlessly, because his pants are tightening again and he feels so explicit, so carefree, and it feels so good.

Niall is on the phone with who Harry presumes is Liam, because he's going on about how _SugarScape_ noticed him and how he's going to be famous and how he's going to stick by Harry's side for the rest of time.

Harry cringes at the thought, because he's not sure he can handle a chipper, loud and boisterous Irish by his side every second of every day.

“Isn't Niall in the car with you?” Louis asks skeptically.

“He's on the phone to Liam,” Harry replies, his tongue feeling heavy in his mouth, and he's finding it hard to speak.

“Were you comfortable earlier? When I sent you that? Because the last thing I want is to make you feel pressured or uncomfortable,” Louis clears his throat awkwardly, and Harry can imagine him scratching the back of his and looking down, and he smiles.

“No Lou, not at all. Thought it was hot, honest. And it really was. Wanna see you like that in front of me,” Harry's voice is deep and seductive, and he wouldn't dream of saying all of this sober, but he really wants Louis right now, wants to make this irking feeling go away in his jeans and stomach. He doesn't know what the feeling is, but Harry can roughly transcribe it to _desire_.

“Lets not do this now,” Louis suggests weakly, and Harry can hear that Louis wants to carry on as much as he does. “I wanna see your pretty face if we do anything.”

“But Lou... 'm not gonna remember this. Not even gonna be confident enough to talk about it,” Harry whines, pouting his full lips.

“I want you to always be confident. Don't want you to have to rely on alcohol. Don't worry, just trust me,” Louis says softly, and they pull up to Harry's house.

“We're home. Goodnight Lou,” Harry replies in a breathy whisper, his eyes slowly shutting.

“Goodnight, Harold.”

Harry stumbles out of the van, thanking the police and immediately collapsing on his bed when he reaches it. Niall is on the couch downstairs, too lazy to go upstairs, and Harry can hear his loud snores echo throughout the house. He sighs contently, thanking the God of Boners for making his disappear, and bursts out laughing because _God of Boners_. 

 

 

The next morning, Harry wishes he hadn't woken up. There are no words in his vocabulary that provide a suitable adjective for the way his head is paining. He's sweating so much that the bedsheets and pillowcase are stuck to his body, and his pants feel extremely uncomfortable and frankly - _sticky_.

Harry sits up, his skin detaching from the fabric surrounding him, to find something crusted on to his boxers. He's never seen come, but he's one hundred percent positive that the substance on his boxers is in fact that. Okay, maybe that’s a lie. Faint childhood memories come flying back to little Harry with dried a dried substance in his pants, brushing it off as dried wee, as if it could look white and crusty. He sometimes cringes when he thinks back.

He's hoping and praying that the come is his own, and that he's had something that Louis had mentioned once, a wet dream, he thinks they're called, because if not, Louis would surely break up with him and he wouldn't be able to live with himself.

His eyes are sore and red in the mirror opposite him when he sits up, with dark bags hanging underneath them. His whole body is aching and begging for a shower, and his mouth tastes vaguely of morning breath and vomit.

It's disgusting.

He strips down and throws everything in the washing basket, hauling himself in the shower, and cleaning himself three times over. He feels so dirty with his greasy hair matted against his forehead, the sweat sticking to his skin, as well as the added factor of the dried-up come that's on his thighs.

When he sure that he's clean and he smells fresh and not of pub smoke and vodka, he wraps his waist in a towel and brushes his teeth profusely, trying to eradicate the disgusting taste. His head throbs as he does, but he does his best to ignore it as he spits out the excess toothpaste and throws on a pair of sweatpants and a band tee.

Niall is still snoring on his couch, and it's eleven in the morning, but Harry leaves him be and pours himself a bowl of cereal and a glass of orange juice. He quickly sends Louis a good luck text for his final exam, and he's really excited because him and Louis can spend time together after this.

He eats his breakfast in the kitchen at the small table against the window, where the sun hits his face and warms him slightly. It's December, and he's sure it's going to start snowing, and he's very excited.

He imagines Louis and him making snowmen in his garden, throwing snowballs at each other and kissing each other in the freezing onslaught, their bodies keeping each other warm. Louis’ eyes will look exquisite against the pale white snow, and Harry will spend hours with him, kissing him underneath mistletoe and watching the Christmas lights flicker all over the city from his balcony. He can imagine Louis opening presents with him underneath a sparkling tree, until he realizes that he'll have to go home for Christmas - and that Louis will have to, too.

The thought of going home makes Harry cringe, because yes, he loves his mother and sister, but it's on a rare occasion that his father turns up for Christmas, even though he apparently promises Anne every year that he will. Maybe he’ll invite Gem and his mum up this year.

Harry's been in London for roughly two years now, and in the seven years of his father having left them, he's come around for two Christmases. Harry used to get excited, because his dad was one of his favourite people, until he was old enough to realize that what had been going on before wasn't okay.

Harry doesn't want his father to come home for Christmas this year. He wants to just spend time with him mum and his sister, because they were actually nice to him, except when his dad came around. Anne would often become distant with Harry, and she was hard to talk to when Des was around. Other than that, his mother was a sweet woman with a missive heart and a beautiful way with words. She always made Harry feel better and would kiss his forehead goodnight and patch up his cuts and bruises and read him stories before bed. Harry loves his mother, and he knows his mother loves him just as much.

He's stirred out of his thoughts when he hears a groan sound from the living room, and a distinctly Irish sounding “ _fuck!_ ” before hearing a few clutters and thumps. Harry grabs his cereal bowl and stands in to the kitchen doorway, to see Niall mulling about the living room, raising his eyebrows in amusement.

“Hungover?” Harry smirks, raising his spoon to his lips.

“Nope,” Niall replies easily. “I gotta pee though.” 

And Harry finds it extremely unfair how Niall can get smashed but still be remotely okay in the mornings. Harry finds himself wishing he were Irish again as he sighs and points out the downstairs bathroom to Niall. He fumbles around for a bit before straightening up and thanking Harry, walking down the hallway towards the bathroom.

Harry drinks his glass of orange juice as Niall comes in to the kitchen and helps himself to a bowl of Coco Pops, and Harry slips back his painkillers and offers some to Niall who starts complaining about a headache.

“That's called being hungover, you know,” Harry says as he downs two of the pills.

“Hungover is what you are. Your stomach is probably swirling and you feel like utter shit, and your body is debating on either vomiting up your intestines or blowing up your brain,” Niall says with his mouth full of milk , and Harry watches in horror as he spews it across Harry's kitchen counter.

And Harry can't argue with him because he's right. Niall just has a headache; Harry feels as if a bus has hit him.

“So what's happening tonight?” Niall asks while they're curled up on the couch watching mindless television.

“I'll probably invite Lou over and we'll chill. 'M not in the mood to go out,” Harry says tiredly.

“Celebratory blowjob?” Niall smirks, and Harry gasps and stutters a few times. “What, have you never done that?”

“N-Never,” Harry says, his eyes wide and his cheeks red. “I don't even know how to give one, or like, what it feels like and stuff.”

“Oh my god. You're joking, aren't you? You cannot tell me that you've never had a blowjob nor given one. Have you even done anything sexual?”

“Never gone past kissing.”

Niall gasps, literally fucking gasps and claps his hand over his mouth, and Harry’s sure it's to stop him from laughing. Yeah, Harry's embarrassed, but he thought it was a good thing not to have done anything, right?

Although, Harry's slowly entering the world of fame, and simultaneously the world of college boys and their friends, and he thinks that maybe he should at least know how to give a blowjob.

“Yeah I know, but it's supposed to be good, or so I was taught.”

“Don't worry little Harry, Louis will be a good teacher.” Niall gives Harry a smug look that leaves him feeling rather flushed and awkward. 

Niall cackles before his phone beeps and it's a text from Liam.

“I've got to go, Liam left his key in my dorm and I've locked up, so I've got to give it to him,” Niall says, sighing loudly.

“Who do you share with?”

“Louis, of course. Zayn use to share with Liam, but he's left and stuff. Thanks for last night, best friend. Love you!” Niall calls over his shoulder as he heads out the door.

“Bye!” Harry calls back, settling back on the couch.

His day goes by slowly and peacefully. Harry sits curled on his fluffy couch in his fluffy blanket for the remainder of the day, watching the Kardashians and their entire season replay. He doesn't like Kendall or Kylie, but he thinks it's best to keep that to himself.

Eventually, he switches over to Mean Girls and okay, his heart may have started racing when he sees that it's on the telly, and he makes some popcorn and settles back deep in to the couch, and he may or may not feel shameless when he speaks along with the characters.

“ _He's almost too gay to function_ ,” Harry says in a faux American accent, smiling at the television.

“It's not nice to talk about yourself that way, Harold,” he hears his favourite voice in the world, and whips his head to the doorway to see Louis Tomlinson shining in all his glory, his hair mussed and swept to the side, his bright cerulean eyes twinkling, and his smile growing larger and larger. He looks so gorgeous, so perfect with the crinkles by his eyes and the small twitch of his nose. Harry hasn't seen Louis for so long, and he doesn't think he'll ever get used to the older boy's beauty.

He's wearing a simple pair of sweats that hug him tightly around his arse and thighs, and it makes Harry eye his body hungrily. He's got a white shirt on and a jersey that's unzipped, and he wants Louis in his arms right then and there.

“Come here.” Harry says, opening up his arms with the biggest grin on his face.

Louis throws his jacket on the sofa and climbs on top of Harry, straddling him and giving him a massive smile before connecting their lips. Louis pecks him gently, once, twice, three times, before opening his mouth, Harry following suit. Their lips move together slowly, carefully, making up for the eight or nine days without each other. Louis wraps his arms around Harry's neck, and Harry brings his arms around Louis’ waist, pulling him closer and closer to Harry. Harry loves the feeling of Louis pressed tightly against him, and soon their kiss becomes sloppier as Harry's hands tentatively roam Louis’ back, until they settle on his perfectly round and rather big arse, squeezing tightly and kneading the skin. Louis moans in to Harry's mouth, breaking away to kiss down Harry's neck and bite gently, until he reaches the spot that connects Harry's neck and collarbones, and he groans and whimpers slightly as Louis sucks a lovely wet and purple hickey in to the skin.

He doesn't want to be small and insecure today, because he's feeling that feeling again with Louis on top of him, and he wants to be stronger and more confident and actually do something with Louis. His earlier thoughts of them moving too fast are pushed back to the back of his mind, because for once, Harry wants to feel something other than insecurity and being not-good enough. He wants to impress Louis and make him feel good and make Lou proud of himself.

Before he met Louis, Harry would never have thought about doing this type of stuff. Heck, he got scared when he woke up with morning glory - and still does. He wants to be involved and in the loop and know what everyone's talking about when they say something and everyone laughs except Harry because he just doesn't understand.

He's sure that Louis has elicited these feelings, because Harry's never been horny before, not like this. He's never wanted to do something before Louis came in to the picture, and why should he not? Louis is Harry's boyfriend. He can do what he pleases.

Harry's become needier and needier, gripping at Louis’ arse and loving the feeling of it cupped between his large hands. Louis keeps rocking back in to his hands and making the sweetest noises, and his hip roll is causing friction on Harry's half-hard on, and he breaks away from Louis and looks him straight in his eyes.

“Lou, can I give you a blowjob?”  


	14. Lutte

Louis has either been hit with an extremely rare case of blowjob-onset paralysis, or he's shocked himself in to a coma. Harry isn't sure which one it is, but Louis is rigid on top of him, gazing down at Harry with wide, ice-blue eyes, looking scarily similar to a baby doe caught in headlights, and Harry just can't meet his gaze. His hands are glued to Louis’hips, and he can feel the hard muscle that sits perfectly still beneath his quivering fingertips.

“Or not... I mean like, thought I'd just like, offer... Or maybe you're not ready, cause like, yeah, that stuff scares me too... So later? Or never, I mean, I'm cool with becoming celibate-”

“Harry, shut up.”

Harry's mouth is half open when Louis cuts him off, halfway through a sentence of complete and utter rubbish, when Louis’soft and slender fingers come to cup his jaw and tug lightly so Harry will meet his gaze. He keeps his eyes on the floor as Louis lifts his face, and he looks like an idiot but he doesn't care, because he doesn't want to see the rejection he's sure Louis’sparkling eyes hold, and he knows he's going to kill Niall for this.

“That’s some interesting hardwood. Didn’t realize it was that specific colour,” Harry rambles on, ignoring the pulling at his chin.

“Harry, you look really stupid right now, in case you haven't noticed. So in order to prevent further insults that I mean with all the love, please look at me.”

He peeks up at Louis through his eyelashes, and he loves just how soft Louis looks. His mouth is slightly parted, his lips swollen and pink and Harry thinks that they're the definition of irresistible. His hair is ruffled and tousled and just outright messy from their frantic kissing. His eyes are soft and shine with sympathy and what looks slightly like intrigue.

“Where did this come from?” Louis asks softly, his thumb tracing nonsensical patterns on Harry's rosy cheek.

“Dunno,” Harry mumbles, but he really wants to say _I've wanted you for so fucking long and you make me feel so fucking needy and God I just need relief from this constant aching inside of me._

“Did Niall say something? Tease you about it? Because it's perfectly okay for you to want to wait...” Louis trails off, looking sad and skeptical at the same time.

“No Lou, it's just, like, I suck at telling people things and putting stuff in words and whatever, but I just need you. You give me this swirl of feelings in my stomach and this dizzying feeling that I can only describe as want. And I also want to give you that,” Harry admits, his eyebrows furrowed as he looks down at his twirling fingers, a habit he has when trying to convey his feelings and emotions.

“That's called sexually frustrated, Harold,” Louis smiles to himself at Harry's innocence. “Also known as being tremendously horny.”

“Yeah, I guess that's what it is,” Harry sighs, biting his lip. “I just saw your arse in that photo and _God_ -”

“You liked it, then?” Louis is also biting his lip now, looking down at Harry through those frightfully long eyelashes that make Harry want to spontaneously combust. Harry nods eagerly, the image fluttering through his mind, and Louis smirks at the corner of his plump lips and it has Harry's insides pooling.

“Yeah, its made me mad all week,” Harry breathes, and Louis rocks his hips backwards, causing friction between Louis’arse and Harry's cock. “Wanna, wanna see it in front of me.”

“Do you now, Harry? Don't you think it would be all too easy then?” Louis smirks, his teeth clutching his bottom lip and Harry finds himself bucking upwards to find friction to ease his hard-on. Louis looks extremely sexy like this.

“No no,” Louis murmurs, pushing Harry's hips down with his smaller hands. “How long have you been this frustrated?”

“Couple of weeks,” Harry admits shyly, looking down at the bulge in his sweatpants.

“And you haven't done anything about it? Haven't touched yourself?” Louis cocks his head to the side, an amused grin playing on his lips.

“Never,” Harry whispers, locking eyes with Louis.

Louis takes in a quick breath of air, his eyes wide with shock, and his teeth kneading his lip. Louis bites his lip so often, only when he's teasing or being sexy. It’s such a contrast to when Harry does it. He bites it often enough that there are always teeth indents in the bottom lip, but he does it because he's constantly shy and nervous and it’s a mechanism for him to cope.

“You're so pure. Gonna make you feel amazing, Harold.”

“But I want to-”

“You first, love. Want you to feel the best you've ever felt, by my hands only.”

Louis pushes back towards the end of Harry's legs, ducking down and peppering kisses along Harry's calves through his sweatpants. Harry wants them off, but Louis winks at him and stops him every time he tries to remove them. He starts biting at Harry's inner thighs, sucking wet patches in to the fabric in the process, and Harry feels the warm wetness all across Louis’bites, and some type of wetness in his boxers.

Louis looks up at Harry, their eyes blazing in to one another's as Louis blows warm air over Harry's bulge and Harry convulses, throwing his head back at the sensation. Louis mouths over Harry's cock, his tongue dragging wet lines across the grey material that's constricting him. Harry's mewling, biting his cheeks and clenching his eyes shut. He's never felt anything like this before, this throbbing between his legs and this pool of want in his lower stomach.

“Want this off?” Louis whispers coyly, his voice seductive.

“God yes, Lou. Please,” Harry whines, wriggling around on the couch and bringing his own hands down to pull them off.

Louis slaps his hands away and shakes his head, his fingers crawling up his legs until they reach the waistband of his sweatpants. He traces the pads of his digits across the sensitive skin, before grasping them and slowly, almost torturously, pulling them down.

“Harry?” two voices break the sound of heavy breathing and the atmosphere of anticipation.

Harry pulls his pants up lighting fast, and Louis’eyes widen from in between Harry's gangly legs. He quickly turns around and lies with his head on Harry's stomach and his body between Harry's legs, and Harry can feel his cock pressing in to the small of Louis’back, painfully hard and needing release.

Harry quickly starts to card his fingers through Louis’hair, and Louis pretends to be asleep, both of their hearts pounding and their faces flushed with embarrassment.

Harry spots Liam and Niall turn the corner in to the living room. He shushes them and places a finger on his mouth, gesturing to Louis’sleeping figure. They nod in understanding and come to sit on the sofa opposite Harry.

“There's a party tonight,” Niall whispers, quite terribly, because Louis pretends to stir and wake up, blinking and rubbing at his face.

“Hey Nialler,” he chirps happily, but Harry can hear the underlying anger in his voice, and it makes Harry bite his lip to suppress a smile. “To what to we owe the pleasure of yours and Liam's visit?”

“There's a party tonight,” Niall repeats, his white teeth shining as he smiles. “And we're all going, no exceptions or objections.”

“I'm not a fan of parties,” Harry mumbles, and Louis leans back and kisses his arm.

“I'll be with you, okay? Won't let anything happen to you.” Louis murmurs in to his arm, and he bites Harry's skin playfully, but it just makes Harry even _more_ sexually frustrated. If that’s possible at this point.

“That's the spirit! Now while you two love birds get ready, I think Liam and I will crack open a beer and wait down here for you. No fucking in the shower,” Niall smirks knowingly, because he definitely knows that they haven't done anything of the sort.

Harry and Louis stand up, stretching out, which is a big mistake, because they've both got raging boners that are prominent in their pants, and they turn quickly with red cheeks and dash for the stairs. Harry hears Niall quip something about a quickie before they leave, and Harry finds himself muttering “That Irish wanker” underneath his breath.

“Isn't he just?” Louis groans and flops down on the bed. “Ugh, whatever. Let's just get ready and go to this stupid party.”

“Hopefully this goes away...” Harry says, gesturing to the growing tent in his pants.

“Just think of your grandmother, naked, on the toilet, with diarrhea,” Louis replies easily, and Harry groans loudly.

But the time they're both showered and dressed, the thoughts of Granny Tomlinson and Granny Styles have eradicated any sexual frustration for the time being.

Harry doesn't really want to go, but Louis seems extremely keen and excited, and Harry knows he's going to have to get over his social anxiety for a bit in order to go. He's not looking forward to meeting a whole bunch of drunk kids who are extremely judgmental and will probably laugh at Harry when he stutters or talks too slowly, or they'll laugh at the way he walks or the way he does things and they'll laugh at the way he just _is_. Harry's been in the exact same situation several times before, and he doesn't fancy going in to it again.

But all those other times, he didn't have a protective, fierce but yet so soft boyfriend by his side, one that will defend Harry to the ends of the earth. He's feeling slightly better about this, but he's not sure tonight's going to go down smoothly.

For one, Harry doesn't feel like getting drunk for the third night in a row, and he wishes that Niall could sod off to a party by himself for once, but he assured Harry earlier that this is a spontaneous party thrown because exams are done and it's holidays soon, and that there won't be a party until Friday, and Harry can skip that one if he chooses.

Secondly, Harry knows Louis is going to get smashed, because he's been bouncing around with excitement because his exams are done, and him and Niall are chatting excitedly right now as they drive towards the outskirts of town where said party is taking place. Harry hopes Liam is the sensible one and will help Harry later on in the night when he has to get Louis home.

They pull up to an old loft, and Harry can hear the bass thumping from where they're parked, and it's loud and Harry might _have_ to get drunk so that the noise doesn't bother his overly-sensitive ears. Louis intertwines their fingers as they walk up the pavement and on to the grass. The loft is high up, with floor to glass windows and beige panted walls that are peeling on the outside. A few of the windows are broken, and strobe lights are trembling in the darkness that shrouds the loft, and Harry can see lasers and several coloured lights flickering on and off in time to the bass. He gulps, but Louis is the definition of euphoria next to him, his smile wide and his eyes crinkled. 

It's the definition of dodgy, but the rest of the boys rush towards it, as if they're not fazed by the idea of possibly being stabbed, like Harry is.

He has no choice but to walk with them.

Teenagers are strewn about outside, smoking something that chokes Harry and taking sips from cheap bottles of alcohol. They're all smiling and laughing, save for one who's throwing up in the bushes. It's already night time, and the bitter wind his grabbing at Harry's skin, making him shiver, and he turns to look up at the murky stars and utters a small prayer along the lines of _please don't let me get stabbed please can I be okay tonight_ before they enter through the cracked glass doors.

 

~

 

Liam is not the sensible one.

He could probably be the worst of the group, and looking at the rest of the group, that is most definitely saying something.

He's currently out on the dance floor, with some sickly pink drink in his hands and some girl with sickly pink hair grinding rather sexually on him, and he's biting his lips and staring at her arse with wide, blown-out eyes.   

Harry is sitting in a booth in the corner with Niall and Louis, and some girl named Barbara that Niall apparently fancies, according to Louis, and another two girls that keep staring at him and winking suggestively. Harry groans and rolls his eyes when they're too busy giggling with each other, because they obviously know who he is and have absolutely no shame.

Harry hates parties.

Granted though, the interior of the loft is done up rather nicely. There's a large DJ booth right by the windows, and speakers set up all over the place that blast some outrageous music with bass that's strong enough to beat someone's heart. The entire place has been stripped of regular furniture and has been replaced with red, velvet booths that are secluded in the corners, with hookahs set up on tables in front of them. The rest of the loft makes up the dance floor, and there are people dancing and grinding and making out with each other and Harry feels extremely uncomfortable when he spies a girl licking up a boy's ear with her hands down his pants.

It's completely dark, save for the thousands of different coloured lights and the bright flashing of the white strobe light that's incessantly flashing in front of Harry's eyes. The particular booth they are sat in is drenched in some sort of indigo light, and the strobe light doesn't hit them here, thankfully, but every time Harry looks over to see what Liam is doing, it flashes in his eyes and he's momentarily blinded.    

Niall is almost completely sloshed, and that's saying a lot for an Irishman, especially Niall. Harry reckons he'll be in the hospital with alcohol poisoning if he doesn't let up. His hand is thrown across the back of the booth casually, and slotted next to him is Barbara, laughing at one of his jokes, and her friends are on the other side of Niall, and unfortunately next to Harry.

Louis is on the end of the booth, his hand clasped protectively on Harry's knee, his other hand holding some concoction that has managed to get him quite tipsy in a very short amount of time. He gets up quickly, leaving Harry alone with the girls, and Harry thinks he's going to kill Louis later.

“You're Harry Styles, aren't you?” A blonde girl asks stupidly.

“Of course he is! I listen to all his music, and I'd know that face anywhere,” her friend giggles, a girl with dark brown hair that stops on her shoulders. “I'm Eleanor.”

“I'm Jessica,” the blonde one pipes up quickly, sending a quick glare to her friend.

“It's nice to meet you girls,” Harry says politely, taking a sip of his water.

“You're so sweet! I love your voice,” Jessica says, touching Harry's arm lightly as she smiles.

They're both pretty, Harry can't deny that. Jessica has this long blonde hair that curls in to small ringlets at her ribs, and her blue eyes are nice, but they're nothing compared to Louis’. She's clad in black skinny jeans with several rips that show off her tanned legs, and a white shirt that barely covers her cleavage. Eleanor is a bit more respectful in her dressing, with a sleek black dress that hits her an inch before the knees, and it has leather sleeves that come down to just before her elbows. Harry saw her black eight-inch heels earlier, and rolled his eyes because he knew exactly what was coming when they sat down next to him.

His social anxiety isn't that terrible tonight, although he's constantly on edge and it may be half of the reason he's giving these girls such small and simple answers. That, and he doesn't have time for them.

“Thanks,” Harry smiles thinly, looking away to see Louis sauntering towards them, two drinks in hand, and he gives him a glare that isn't very playful.

Louis is looking far more dashing than the two girls next to him, with his signature black skinny jeans that curve perfectly against his thick arse and sculpted thighs, and a white shirt that has some sort of blue cross on the pocket. His hair looks windswept and his eyes shine at Harry through the darkness and Harry wants to melt.

Louis climbs over Harry and slots in between him and Eleanor, smiling a bright smile that Harry knows means _fuck off._

“Sorry girls, just need to speak with Harold here. He's a little deaf in the other ear, you see. This music makes it very hard for him to hear me when I sit on his left,” Louis winks at them, before sliding a drink towards Harry.

He leans in, pressing his lips to Harry's ear, and a tingle shoots down Harry's back. “Drink, love. Loosen up, and come have fun with me.”

Harry shudders at the suggestion in Louis’ voice, and Louis bites his earlobe and sort've growls in Harry's ear, and he's a goner.  

He grabs the drink in the clear cup and drinks it slowly, savouring the burn as it goes down his throat and settles in his stomach. Louis grins and slaps him on the cheek, before drinking his own. Harry throws his arm around Louis’ shoulder, and it looks pretty platonic on the outside, until you see Louis’ hand tracing patterns on the insides of Harry's thighs, and it makes him squirm, but Louis will dig his nails in to Harry's thigh every time he does, and that anchors him slightly.

Liam returns, minus the girl with the pink hair, but his arm is thrown over a boy he doesn't recognize, but next to him he sees Nick and despite the ball of fury next to him that's currently digging his nails a little too hard in to Harry's leg, he smiles and greets him amicably.

Harry can hear Louis hissing _what the fuck is he doing here_?But Harry shushes him and watches as Nick, Liam and the mystery boy sit down next to Niall.

“I'm Matt,” the boy introduces himself, holding out a hand for Harry to shake. “You must be Harry.”

“Nice to meet you,” Harry says, his hand only shaking a little as he takes Matt's. “How'd you know?”

“Nick has told me about you,” he says simply, and Harry sees Nick's eyes widen and he's sure Nick digs in to his ribs with his elbow, because Matt groans and rushes out, “Yeah, he hosts a radio show and plays a lot of your songs. They're wicked.”

“Really?” Harry says, looking over at Nick and surveying his brown quiff and scared eyes. “Thank you, I mean, really. That's so nice.”

“You're an amazing artist,” Nick nods, looking a little sheepish, and Harry can feel Louis next to him, fuming, but he turns and presses his lips against Louis’ ear.

“Relax, love. They're not going to bother us that much. Have a good time, I'll come dance with you later if that's okay?” Harry asks, and Louis nods curtly and lets out a breath, and at the same time, releases his death grip on Harry's upper thigh that has most definitely gone numb.

Nick and Matt turn out to be pretty cool people, and easy to talk to. Harry is a bit hesitant at first to start talking, because Matt looked kind of intimidating, and Harry doesn't like to speak around people he's just met, because a lot of them are judgmental, and Harry's learnt that the best way to avoid embarrassment and questioning looks is to shut up and nod when it's needed. He plays right in to his anxiety’s hands and keeps quiet while everyone chats around him.

Louis is constantly on edge, quipping and retorting something unintelligent when Nick says anything really, but Harry's actually quite interested, so he ignores Louis’ strain of insults that he's uttering and listens.

After about his third drink, he's loosening up a bit and he sort've forgets that he shouldn't be talking and blurts out something he thinks is relative to the subject, and everyone looks at him, surprised he's said anything, and they all burst in to laughter, and Harry blinks before smiling and giggling a bit.

He gets more in to the conversations after that, and Louis’ hand has found itself resting on a Harrys waist, carefully positioned out of sight in case anyone sees, but Harry doesn't really mind if anyone sees, because it's a college party and there are girls kissing and boys grinding on each other and no one seems to mind, so Harry pulls Louis in to his lap, and Louis gives him a questioning glance, and Harry just presses a kiss to Louis’ bare arm. Louis relaxes in to Harry's arms, laughing and making obscene gestures with his hands as he speaks, and Harry loves watching how animated he becomes, how quick Louis is to reply with a sarcastic retort, and just how amazing he is in general.

“Let's go dance!” A very drunk Niall slurs sometime later, and they all stand up and stretch and head on to the dance floor.

There's people bustling and gyrating all around Harry, and he loses sight of Louis and everyone else, before there's a pair of arms that wrap around his waist and he's suddenly pulled closer to the smaller boy, their stomachs pressed together as Louis gives Harry a sly look.

They're all dancing in the middle of the floor, and they're all jumping and moving their bodies to the music and Harry knows he has two left feet and that people are watching him and probably judging his every move, but he's overcome his anxiety, and he suddenly _doesn't_ care. He's got his friends by his side, his boyfriend right next to him, and worrying is the last thing on his mind right now.

Harry thinks he's addicted to feeling this carefree.

Eleanor and Jessica suddenly appear next to him, sliding up and down the sides of his body, laughing and moving their hands across his back and stomach. He looks a little awkward, his stance stiff and the two girls dance around him. Eleanor leans up to whisper something in his ear, but suddenly, Harry's tugged out of their grasp by some unknown force and pulled towards another place in the crowd, and Harry can still see Niall's blonde hair and Liam's flat cap, so he turns around to see Louis cocking his head to the side and looking at Harry.

“Enjoying yourself, aren't you?” He has a glint in his eye and Harry's not sure where he's going with this.

“It's not so bad,” Harry grins at Louis, and Louis has this sly smirk playing on his lips and Harry just wants to kiss him.

“Funny to see you dancing with those girls when you were begging for my mouth on you earlier,” Louis whispers in Harry's warm pressing their bodies closer together.

Harry gasps and Louis just chuckles, turning around and pushing his arse against Harry, and he feels heat flush his body, and he wraps his fingers around Louis’ hips (he hasn't actually done this before, he's just seen it in movies). Louis grinds against Harry, his hips doing frightful things to Harry's cock. Harry groans lowly, leaning down to bite on Louis’ neck softly. Louis gasps, before letting out a little whimper, and it makes Harry twitch in his pants.

Harry's inhibitions have flown out the window, and he just wants this moment right now, where Louis is on him and they're dancing the night away. He wants to feel this happy for the rest of his life, wants to be this carefree and wants to enjoy life instead of being the sad, lonely boy who can't speak to people. This is the Harry he wants to be.

Somehow, they all end up outside on the dying grass that's cold beneath them, and Louis is leaning in to Harry for warmth, because although both their jackets are wound tightly around him, the winter chill is rattling their bones, so they just push closer and closer to each other, until they're hip to hip and Harry's arm is outstretched and supporting them behind Louis’ back.

The music is still pumping behind them, but faintly, and they're all sitting in a circle, chatting and laughing. Harry and Louis are murmuring to each other and nosing each other's cheeks, their alternative to not kissing, because although he's sure these drunk kids don't care who he is, he's still skeptical that a photo could get out of him kissing Louis.

“Hey hey! The host has come to join us!” Liam yells, and they all turn to see a dark-haired boy walking out and in to the murky moonlight.

“That's Josh. His brother owns this studio and he lets him use it to throw parties. It never gets busted cause it's too far from the rest of civilization,” Louis wiggles his eyebrows, and it's not the funny, but Harry laughs anyway.

Josh joins their circle, producing two bags of greenery and one containing white powder, and Harry gulps back his nervousness because he know exactly what that is and he knows exactly what it does to him.

“Take your pick,” Josh announces, pulling out sheets of white paper to roll the weed up in.

Niall scrambles for the weed and rolls out a few joints that Liam and Louis happily accept. Harry shakes his head, because _of fucking course_ his boyfriend smokes weed. It's normal these days, according to Louis.

“I-I, um, I don't think you should smoke weed, Lou. ’S bad for your health and stuff,” Harry mumbles in to Louis’ ear, because he really doesn't want Louis to smoke, doesn't want to be a part of anything drug-related after his experience with them, but he's never told Louis not to do something, and he isn't sure how to approach the subject.

“I've done it loads of times, Haz,” Louis says, grabbing the lighter that's being passed around, “It's really not that bad. Just relaxes you and makes you feel good, that's all.”

“I really don't think you should be doing it, though. Like seriously,” Harry tries to be firmer with Louis, because he's already drunk and being high will make him even worse to take home at the end of the night.

“You're not my mum, Harold,” Louis laughs, and Harry gulps and looks away, his heart hammering in his chest. “Here, have some. Then you'll see. And it's not like I'm doing the coke over there like Josh and Matt.”

Harry snaps his head over to the two boys, and sure enough, they've made lines on their thighs and are leaning over and sniffing them. Harry's mouth falls open, because he can't believe this. Yeah, okay, he's tried coke, but he was seventeen and completely pressured in to it by his “girlfriend”. He's told Louis the entire story, but it still makes him nervous to be so close to the drug.

“Think I'm gonna go, like, back inside. I don't like being so close to that drug,” Harry says, disentangling himself from Louis. “Not after that other time I told you about.”

Louis puffs out a few rings of smoke, and Harry's startled to see that he's almost bloody finished the joint, before he takes a swig of alcohol and looks at Harry with bleary eyes.

“Just have some weed, Harry. Heck, even have some coke. Just _relax_ for once,” Louis rolls his eyes, before blowing smoke in Niall's face.

Harry is fuming, because Louis is being such an inconsiderate _prick_ at the moment, because Louis knows exactly what happened to Harry after he had tried coke, because his boyfriend knows all about his problems and has the audacity to tell him to _just relax for once._ He'd become a complete mess after the coke, and here he is, _offering_ it to Harry like his story means nothing.

“I'm going back inside,” Harry murmurs, and no one really hears him, and he's feeling really shit about himself right now.

_I'll be with you, okay? Won't let anything happen to you._

Yeah _, right_.

He ends up going to the roof instead of back to the party, just by chance, but he knows he prefers it as soon as the elevator opens up. There's no one around, and all he can see is a blur of city lights off a little further to the right, and he pulls his jacket tighter around his body as he goes to sit closer to the edge.

He's really mad at Louis, but he knows it's the alcohol and weed talking, and that Louis is going to feel shit about all of this tomorrow. Harry doesn't want to blame him and not forgive him, but he doesn't want Louis to think it's okay to just do stuff like this because he knows Harry will forgive him.

Yeah, he really hates parties.

Harry sighs, frustrated, tugging at his hair and wiping his face. He looks out over the city lights and the stars that are sort've visible behind the clouds, and he decides that he wouldn't mind staying up here for the rest of the party, while everyone else rolls around in drugs and cheap vodka.

He's kind of proud of himself for saying no, because he's never really had the power to do so before, but he still finds himself wondering what it feels like to be under the influence of weed. Cocaine was a terrible experience for him, and he's steering clear of that drug, but if Louis says weed is okay, then isn't it?

 _No_ , Harry says to himself. _It's not._

Harry can imagine his mother scolding his logic, looking at him with her pointed glare and saying the famous line: “If Louis jumped in to the fire, would you do it too?”

Harry wants to say yes, because Harry goes wherever Louis goes, and visa versa, but Harry doesn't want to change his morals for Louis. He knows it's wrong, and he's going to stay away from it.

_But you're not fun enough for him. His own boyfriend won't smoke with him, how hilarious is that? You'll never be enough for Louis, you're just refusing to see it until something big happens._

He hears the elevator behind him, and he whips his head around to see Nick walking out on to the roof. He's not aware that Harry's there yet, but he walks around and looks up at the dark sky before he spots Harry.

“I'm not bothering you, am I?” Nick asks tentatively, walking forward towards Harry.

Harry can see Louis in his mind now, his eyes ablaze and his jaw clenched in anger. Harry rolls his eyes, because Nick is actually a really nice guy, and shakes Louis out of his mind with a sad sigh. He wants Louis to sober up and come and hold him out here. He knows Louis would love it.

“Not at all. You can sit if you want. I don't mind,” Harry says, gesturing next to him.

Nick settles down next to Harry and they watch the night in silence, listening to the faint booming of the music and the loud laughter of the drunken partygoers. Harry turns to look at Nick, his face outlined by the dim moon and the bright lights out on the horizon, his quiff highlighted and his eyes shining.

“Does Louis treat you well?” he asks out of the blue, and Harry is kind of stunned, because he's not sure he should be discussing Louis with Nick of all people.

But then again, Nick could provide some insight in to why Louis’ emotions are so shut off, and maybe tell Harry why they broke their supposed “thing” was cut off.

“He treats me better than anyone I've ever met,” Harry admits truthfully, staring wistfully ahead of him.

“Then why are you up here by yourself?” It's a genuine question; he's not accusing Harry or Louis of anything, just asking.

Harry sighs and looks Nick in the eyes. They're a warm brown colour, not as enticing as Louis’ sparkling cobalt ones, but they're warm and comforting and they're exactly what Harry needs right now.

“Because he's drunk and high and I can't deal with him like that. I can respect that he wants to have fun, this just isn't my scene,” Harry admits quietly, his voice traveling on the wind. “He's also just not...considerate when he's like this.”

“Oh, I know,” Nick chuckles. “I remember. I'm not sure if Louis said, but we used to be friends.”

“Niall said you were more than that. Louis doesn't like to talk about you,” Harry finds himself saying.

“We were. He just wasn't ready for a relationship. He has issues, and I'm still not sure about what,” Nick replies, his voice laced with sadness and concern.

“You don't know either? God, why does no one fucking know?” Harry groans, because his plan to find out about Louis has just been blown apart.

“He keeps it to himself, Believe me, I tried to get it out of him too. It's part of the reason why we ended,” Nick says, almost to himself, shaking his head.

“He's just such an amazing person until he does this. I can do like pubs and stuff, but I'd prefer to have a glass of champagne at an event with my friends, you know? I don't do the club and party scene, but I try for him,” Harry finds himself opening up to Nick, and it's nice because Nick listens.

“Not trying to make it awkward or anything, but if I was your boyfriend I'd respect what you want to do as much as you'd respect what I'd want to do,” Nick adds lightly, and Harry hums in agreement.

“Yeah, he's like that, but only when he's sober. He's everything I want, and he makes me really happy and makes me want to branch out and be confident, you know?”

Nick nods and slaps Harry on the back, “I know what you mean. He's a good lad, Louis. I think you need to just tell him how highly you think of him, and he'll feel bad and come around.”

Harry can hear police sirens in the distance, and he snaps his head up, and sure enough, he can see the flashing lights coming towards them.

“Shit! I have to get Louis, he's high and they'll arrest him,” Harry proclaims, bolting upright and heading for the elevator.

“I'll help,” Nick says immediately, running after Harry.

The elevator ride takes too long, and Harry's bouncing up and down on the balls of his feet, his hands rubbing together nervously, his heart thundering in his chest. The doors finally open on the ground floor, and the sirens are getting closer, and Harry rushes out on to the grass, and majority of the group is still there, save for Liam and Louis. Niall and Barbara are kissing, and the Irish boy is smiling in to it, and it looks cute despite the surrounding kids who are examining grass blades and rolling down the hill. 

“The cops are coming! Niall, where are Louis and Liam?” Harry shakes Niall, who looks up at him with wide eyes.

“T-They went searching for you. Louis suddenly realized you were gone and panicked. Liam went with him to try help find you,” Niall stutters, suddenly alarmed.

They all get up and race towards their cars, and Niall goes to open theirs and bring it closer so that they can make a quick escape. Harry runs back inside and finds himself in the throng of drunken kids, and he almost slips on sick and almost vomits himself, but he's screaming “Louis! Liam!” above the commotion because someone's announced that the cops are coming, and the music's been cut and everyone is rambling and yelling and bustling towards the door.

He spies the grey flat cap that Liam had on earlier and rushes towards it, only to find an African-American guy looking at him quizzically when he slams in to him. Harry mutters an apology and Nick grips his hand as they move through the sea of people scrambling for the door. He's pulling Nick along, searching frantically for the tousled, messy haired boy and a flash of a white shirt. He's becoming slightly dizzy, but he pushes through everyone and finds Liam and Louis lying on the floor, staring dazedly up at the roof.

“Guys, the cops are here. Come on, let's go,” Harry shakes them, but they start laughing and roll around on the dusty wood.

Harry wants to kill Louis, because he spots the remainder of another joint near his fingertips, and Harry grunts before grabbing Louis and hoisting him over his shoulder. His muscles are burning as he pushes through everyone, Louis giggling on his shoulder, and when he reaches the lawn, the cops are pulling up and he sets Louis on his feet, throwing one of his smaller arms over his shoulders and carrying him towards where Niall is parked and waving frantically in the front seat.

The police are running and stopping kids, and Harry is ready to slaughter people when a few vans pull up and paparazzi get out, immediately spotting Harry and racing over to him and suddenly flashing lights are blinding him.

“Stop! Please, just stop,” Harry yells weakly, because he knows how terrible this looks. “He's really not feeling well, please can we just go?”

“Get out of our faces, you dicks!” Louis slurs, fighting weakly against Harry's side where he's slumped against the taller boy.

“Is that Louis Tomlinson?” They all shout, and Harry sees Nick dragging Liam out behind him, and Harry shakes his head and pushes past the paps, opening the back door and throwing Liam and Louis in the backseat.

“Come on, the cops are coming!” Harry yells as he gets in the car.

“Harry! Are you two dating? Is he drunk? Has he been using drugs? Smile for us, Harry and Louis!”

Nick pushes Niall in to the passenger's seat and climbs in the drivers, starting the car and darting forward in to the night just as Louis leans out the window and flips them off, before violently vomiting on the road as they drive off.

Harry rubs Louis’ back and cringes because he hates vomit, but Louis is moaning as he leans back inside, grabbing a stray tissue off of the floor and wiping his mouth. Liam is laughing his head off next to Harry, and he's ready to wring both of their necks.

“Why am I in a car with Nick?” Louis says obnoxiously, turning to face Harry. “My little sugarplum, have I not told you how terrible he is?”

“Yeah well he's not as terrible as my apparent _boyfriend_ who promised me he would stick with me but chose getting high over going back inside with me because I didn't want to be around cocaine. And I'll remind you again, one if the worst experiences in my life revolved around cocaine. I respect that you wanted to have fun Louis, but you know how terrible I am with people and how nervous I get, yet you tell me to “have some coke and just relax for once”. If that's not insulting and really inconsiderate then I don't know what is.”

Harry's snapped, and he feels terrible but he can't stop because Louis needs to know exactly how he's feeling because he doesn't want to be walked over anymore.

The car ride is silent for the rest of the way, and Harry can feel Louis’ eyes burning in to the side of his head, but he doesn't turn to meet Louis’ eyes once. Louis tries to lace their fingers together, but Harry's hand remains slack in his lap, but Louis still holds on tight. He doesn't want to shake Louis off, but he just wants some space.

Nick drives the back route, through the outskirts and around to dodge the cops until they're met with the city lights all over again.

Nick drops them off at Harry's place, and Harry gets out the door after Liam, standing in the middle of the road and waiting for Louis to hop out, but he doesn't. He looks up with glassy, tentative eyes and looks at Harry.

“Are you waiting for me?” He asks in a small voice that's several octaves higher than his normal one.

“No Louis, I'm waiting for the Queen of fucking England. Although really you could be the Queen, hands down. ’Course I'm waiting for you, you tosser. Now get out,” Harry rolls his eyes, and Louis slides out of the car, waving goodbye to Niall and flipping Nick off with a sweet grin.

Harry has never sounded more like Louis in his entire existence.

He blames the alcohol.

Harry thanks Nick profusely for helping him and says goodbye to the boys too, and Liam presses a sloppy kiss to Harry's lips and Harry giggles despite his anger and wipes his mouth off.

Harry opens the door and locks it once Louis is inside, and Louis looks like a scared kitten, because he's standing in the middle of the room, his hands limp at his sides, his head facing the floor. He seems to have sobered up tremendously, and Harry hopes that they can have a serious chat.

Harry just walks in to the kitchen to grab a glass of water, and one for Louis too, before moving to the living room and settling down on the plush sofa. Harry realizes that he needs to call Louis in to the room, because the boy is still standing in the entrance hallway, too scared to go anywhere unless invited.

He walks in and sits down opposite Harry, his head in his hands and Harry offers him a glass of water. Louis looks up at him with wide eyes that shine with disbelief, and takes the water, rather stunned.

“I fucked up, Harry. I really did. And I'm so sorry,” Louis whispers, his voice cracking. “I'm so, so sorry. I swear to God Harry it was the alcohol and the weed, I'd never let you just go like that-”

“I'm not mad,” Harry cuts Louis off in a small voice. “I'm not. I'm just really sad because I told you I hated parties and that my anxiety really kicks in and I was assured that you would take care of me if something were to happen. And I was actually having fun until they brought the coke out. That was honestly the scariest moment of my life when I had that bad trip, and you just offering it to me like it's no big deal really hurt, Lou.”

“You're, you're not mad?” Louis is blinking, his mouth ajar, like he can't believe this.

“I had time to think, and yeah, I was furious earlier. You're such an amazing person Louis, and you've done such amazing things for me and I'm not going to let one slip up define our entire relationship. Yeah I was mad, fuming even, when you said those things and even more so when I found you lying on the floor with Liam inside, giggling and acting like nothing was wrong-”

“I had come to find you,” Louis butts in, finally meeting Harry's gaze. “Really, but then I was high and they had stuck those glow in the dark stars on the roof, like the ones you have on yours and I was mesmerized.”

Harry shakes his head and actually chortles because Louis is so unbelievably stupid when he's high.

“Where did you even go?” Louis asks, seemingly more at ease.

“I went up to the roof by mistake,” Harry replies easily. “It was really beautiful up there, like you could see the city lights and stuff. And I wanted to call you to come watch with me but then I remembered that you were fucked-”

“Bad boy Harry likes to swear a lot, and even called me the “Queen of fucking England”, so cool,” Louis raises an eyebrow at Harry, smirking.

“Are you still high?” Harry questions, “because I'm kind of trying to have a serious conversation with you.”

It's silent again, and all Harry can hear is the faint patter of rain outside and the crackling of the fire he'd lit earlier while Louis was still standing in the hallway.

“When did you grow up so much and how did I miss it?” Louis whispers, looking up at Harry through his dark and luscious eyelashes.

“What do you mean?” Harry sucks in a breath, confused.

“You've been so mature about this all, not blowing up and yelling like most people in a relationship would. And you seem more confident and outspoken lately. You speak your mind and it's so...endearing, Harold. You want to try new sexual experiences when the boy that I met in the coffee shop would've choked up and blushed and mumbled something incoherent. It's beautiful to see you grow.”

Harry is taken aback by Louis’ words, because hearing them from Louis makes him feel so proud of himself, and Harry smiles and giggles and blushes, and he's back to his awkward self because he can't _not_ smile and he doesn't know what to say.

“I'm really tired,” Harry says instead of thanking Louis, because he can feel the exhaustion in his bones creeping throughout his entire body. “Come to bed with me?”

“How can you still want me to sleep next to you after everything I've done?” Louis blurts as Harry stands. “You're supposed to be fucking angry and shout at me and kick me out of your house because I wasn't there for you and I was rude to you and blew you off. You're supposed to do that.”

“Why are you so set on me doing that to you?” Harry asks tentatively in a small voice, because Louis seems really distressed.

“Because that's how it's supposed to work,” Louis mumbles, almost to himself. “That's what's always happened.”

“Are you okay?” Harry inquires, suddenly becoming aware of just how stressed out Louis is.

He's running his hands through his hair and pulling at it and wiping his face, and Harry's slightly scared. He wraps his arms around Louis for the first time in the last few hours and holds him close.

“Let's go to bed. I'm not mad, really.”

Louis follows Harry wordlessly up to bed and strips down mechanically in to a pair of sweatpants and a long jumper of Harry's. Harry puts on his pajamas and brushes his teeth alongside Louis, who spits and wordlessly gets underneath the covers. Harry follows him shortly and pulls Louis in to his arms and kisses his temple goodnight.

“Why are you so good to me?” Louis wonders in a tight voice.

“Because...I like you, Lou. A lot. More than I've liked anyone. And I don't want you to be sad. And I forgive you, because you apologized and I accepted. Simple.”

“It feels too easy,” Louis says, but seems to snap out of his daze and press a firm kiss to Harry's lips, warm and wet and lovely.

“A relationship should be easy,” Harry replies softly, his eyes watching Louis’ as their noses brush together.

Harry falls asleep then with his lips pressed to Louis’ cheek, and the only sound he hears is Louis’ incessant mumbling to himself, as he whispers “It shouldn't be this easy.”


	15. Release

**_Harry Styles Spotted Carrying Drunk Louis Tomlinson and Evading The Cops?_ **

_Everything you need to know about Harry's wild night out!_

_It's no secret that Harry Styles is heading straight for stardom, with his fanbase and music growing by the millisecond, but he's not as shy and timid as we thought!_

_Harry's been spotted out numerous times before, just walking around or ducking in to vintage shops (as an indie singer does) but lately, his taste seems to have turned to that of alcohol and long nights out!_

_Harry was spotted **just the night before** getting drunk with his mate Niall Horan, who insiders have confirmed goes to the local-yet-very-prestigious Knightswood University, along with Harry's rumored love-interest, Louis Tomlinson. Harry proceeded to vomit in the bushes, but not before he was asked if Niall was his boyfriend. _

_“No!_ _” Niall said when paparazzi began firing the questions._ _“But his boyfriend is-_ _”_

_And Harry then clamped Niall's mouth shut, before they were escorted away by police. Does this mean Harry is **in to men? And has a boyfriend?**_

_The next night, pictures emerged of Harry at a college party, obviously invited by Louis and Niall, dancing against what could be Louis himself, and a fuzzy image on the roof with a person that insiders claim to be Nick Grimshaw, the host of a local radio show. The cops busted the party, which was held in an abandoned loft on the outskirts of town, and soon the paparazzi stormed it as well, snapping photos of Louis looking sloshed out of his mind, his arm around Harry who seems to be holding him up, rather angrily._

_Students at the party claim that they saw Harry and Louis curled up together outside, nosing each other's cheeks as well as grinding on each other on the dance floor. This blurry picture isn't clear enough to see either Harry or Louis, just a small flash of curly hair, and drunken teenagers can often be unreliable sources._

**_But, the real question is: Are Harry and Louis actually an item?_ **

 

 

~

 

Things are tense between Harry and Louis for the next two weeks or so. Harry wakes up the morning after the party, scrambling for the ball of warmth that usually greets him in the murky morning sunlight, only to find cold sheets and the crackling of a piece of paper that lets Harry know that he's needed at the coffee shop.

Harry thinks it strange, so he goes to the coffee shop and gets his usual, and Louis isn't there. Harry's heart thuds and his chest constricts because he knows Louis lied to him, he knows that he'd probably just gone back to his dorm, and Harry tries to bite back tears because he's emotional like that and also because Louis can't seem to face Harry.

Due to the influx of sexuality rumours surrounding Harry, he's been spotted out and about with several females, being made to kiss their cheeks or buy them coffee. They are pleasant enough; people like Cara who he has become close friends with, but some of them he cannot stand.

He texts Harry occasionally, and Harry tries his best to make plans, but Louis is always “studying” or “ working on assignments”, and Harry doesn't question him once. Louis will always send things like “ _you alright? xx_ ” which is cryptic but still shows that Louis cares about Harry's wellbeing, even though he doesn't come out to see him.

Harry's tempted to say no, he's not alright, to say that Louis has to come over right now because he needs Louis, but that wouldn't be fair because Harry's alright in the simplest ways, the ways that Louis is worried about, and Harry knows he'd do it just to interrogate Louis about where the hell his mind is at.

Harry doesn't have time anyway after the first week of being on the receiving end of Louis’ ignorance, because his EP album launch is coming up, and he's been shoved in to interview after interview and as many performances as he can handle so that he can get his music out. They're having a huge event for his launch, with a red carpet walk beforehand, and a party that goes in to all hours of the night.

Things are also quite tense with Harry and Rebecca, because she's not taking the speculation about Harry's sexuality and a certain pixie-haired boy with glimmering eyes very lightly. The entire management team is extremely pissed at him, but Harry eventually snaps one morning during a terse meeting with almost the entire management team. They're seated at a large, mahogany desk that stretches on for miles, filled with old men with pinched faces and women that have had so much plastic surgery that they can barely raise their eyebrows. They're advocating every single reason as to why Harry can't be with Louis, and Harry's not even paying attention. He's playing with his fingers and the metal rings that clink together when he drums his fingertips on the desk. He twists the ring on his middle finger around, a silent _fuck you_ , and although none of them really grasp Harry's silent words, he feels better all the same because mouthing off at them in his head is enough for now.

Harry finally breaks when an older woman with mounds of red ringlets stands up and comes to sit on the desk above Harry, her cleavage in his face and her expression smug. “Oh, Harry darling. You're young, you're good looking, and you’re famous. What could you possibly need Louis for?”

Harry snaps his head up and his eyes burn holes in her cold, brown ones. His chair shoots up from underneath him, screaming as it slides across the tiles, his tall frame intimidating as he glares the entire boardroom down. They're leaning back in their seats, their faces frozen in shock as they take Harry's demeanor in.

“Louis is my _friend_! Friend. Do you get that? He's my best mate, and if you all can't accept that and accept the fact that he's going to be around me almost all the time, then you can all kindly go f-”

At which point Rebecca pulls him out of the meeting and glares at him with so much blatant fury that Harry gulps and turns on his heel, walking in the opposite direction and out of the building.

And yeah, he might've picked up on Louis’ bluntness and disregard for bullshit, but he's not complaining.

Harry thanks his lucky stars when he learns that his management team aren't going to do anything drastic to him, but Harry's sure that's not going to last if his EP sales are a flop and if he carries on doing things that make people question his sexuality. Or if he makes a drunken fool out of himself at his release party.

Harry's so excited for it, though, because James Bay is performing, as well as The Neighbourhood, and Harry is internally freaking out because those are his _idols_. He cannot believe that he's come so far that his favourite bands are playing in honour of his EP release. He's kept it from Louis for a while now, the songs on the EP as well as the actual release party itself, because he's planning on asking Louis to go with him, but he's really not sure where they stand anymore.

Of course they're still together, Harry doesn't doubt that for a second. Louis just wants space, and Harry's terrible at giving people space. He finds himself texting corny jokes to Louis as well as quotes that he finds, and Louis will either reply with a _“you must be bored again, Harold. Xx_ _”_ or a “ _that's cute. xx_ _”_ and this is when he even gets a reply at all.

It's all making Harry very frustrated, because he's been so mature about the situation, even forgiving Louis because he _cares_ about him and understands why he did what he did, but the least Louis could do is accept that Harry isn't going to get mad anytime soon and just _come back_.

Louis has a lot of baggage, and Harry knows exactly what he's feeling and what he's going through because he has a lot of baggage too, and knows exactly what happens when that catches up with you. The difference between them is that Harry can actually stand to listen to Louis’ baggage, if Louis ever were to actually open up and share it.

He hangs out with Niall and Liam mostly, and all Niall can say is that Louis just needs space right now, and he himself doesn't actually know what's wrong with him, because he really is just sitting in his room, doing his assignments, and spending the rest of his hours on the football field, sweating and practicing for several hours a day.

Apparently, they're picking captains soon, and Louis is trying to push for it, according to Niall, but even the Irishman sounds like he's been instructed to say the things he's saying.

Things become slightly more problematic when Harry's getting ready for an interview, and it's quite a big one because this is _Graham Norton_ , one of the biggest talk shows in the entire world, nevermind the UK.

He's currently trembling in the mirror, looking over himself while people touch up his hair and makeup. He's got black skinnys on, with several rips that expose his pallid thighs, and pink sparkling boots that put even the brightest fuchsias and roses to shame. He's got a see-through, black shirt on that hangs until the top of his thighs, rolled up at the sleeves and buttoned down. His tattoos are just visible through it, a shade darker than the shirt, and that makes them stand out against his creamy chest. They've slicked his hair back so that it creates a mane that flows away from his face and cascades down his head in a mound of curls. Harry's management wants him to cut his hair, but he's refused several times over (and may or may not have stomped his sparkling boots in protest).

The interview is going smoothly, and he's been instructed to appear shy and giggly like he normally is, and Graham is cracking jokes and asking about his EP. Harry hopes that they've been instructed to talk about everything but Louis.

“The release is on Friday, and I'm so excited,” Harry explains, his eyes shining and his mouth cracked wide. “We haven't released the titles of the songs yet - all I can say is that there are six songs, and they're really good. I worked especially hard on some of the love songs.”

“Speaking of love, is there anyone special in your life right now?” Graham leans forward, wiggling his eyebrows and tapping his chin.

_Here it comes._

“Unfortunately not,” Harry replies, trying to look the least bit solemn. “Hopefully soon, though.”

“But what about Louis Tomlinson? Your fanbase has gone mental over you two. You're being called _Larry Stylinson_ ,” Graham notes, pointing to a collage of pictures that have come up on the big screen.

Harry wants to strangle him in the nicest way possible, because right now all he can do is try to stop his face from going red and try to stop it from morphing in to expressions of awe and infatuation while looking up at the photos of both of them.

“Isn't that adorable,” Harry squeaks awkwardly, laughing too loud and looking at the photos.

Photos of Harry and Louis are plastered everywhere - walking down the street, talking at the party, having coffee at Daisy's coffee shop, Harry carrying Louis out of the party and away from the cops, there's just so _many_ and Harry feels violated in the worst way possible because his private life is being exploited more and more every day. He's actually surprised they don't have photos of them kissing, but he's endlessly thankful for it.

“So you two aren't a thing?” He pushes, and everything seems to be silent, except for Harry's heartbeat that's currently flipping out inside his chest.

“Some people generally think that Louis and I are...in a relationship,” Harry giggles, and can't help himself from blushing when a rather intimate photo of Louis whispering in his ear shows up on the big screen. “He was telling me there that he thought the girl on the other side of the street was fit.”

Harry hopes he's the only one that hears the crack in his voice and his slight stutter.

Harry fails to mention that in actual fact, Louis was mouthing off in Harry's ear about his arse, and teasing Harry about wanting it.

He's asked about Niall, and even Liam and Nick, and Harry just says that they're his mates that he met and they're really cool, because they let him live the college life as well as the life he's living now, so he kind of has the best of both worlds and it's really great.

“So are you now an avid partygoer? Because you've been spotted out and about more than a few times.”

“I actually hate parties,” Harry admits, laughing slightly. “I just went to the pub with Niall because he was feeling lonely and ended up drinking his concoctions because he's amazing at persuading people. And I go to parties because my mates want to.”

“So you're very easy going and a people pleaser?”

“Very much so.”

And the interview goes on smoothly, the audience laughing along at Harry's ever-present awkwardness, and then Harry sings _Sad Song_ and gets that familiar rush that he can't quite explain, and everyone applauds him and he feels like a million pounds, but the worry he's constantly feeling about Louis is still itching at the back of his mind, and he decides while he's smiling and bowing and throwing peace signs all over the place as if they're confetti, that he's going to march right up to Louis after this and get him to explain everything. 

 

 

That's not exactly how it goes.

But Harry can't help that Louis is a pretty good manipulator.

Harry pulls up to the Uni, with it's high, intimidating walls lined with old vines that are green despite the frosty weather, and gulps slightly. He's changed in to much warmer attire, a woolen sweater covered with a thick trench coat and a beanie that keeps his ears warm. He steps out of his car, avoiding eye contact with anyone he sees because he knows that people will notice him and he doesn't want that.

His feet crunch against the dead grass as he walks, and he almost slips on the ice that's built up on the steps. He has high hopes that it's going to snow soon, and all his snow-filled fantasies with Louis can actually come true.

He has no idea where Louis stays, because he's never been here before, except to pick up and drop Louis off, and he can't call Niall because Niall has specifically said to give Louis some space, but Harry's fed up now. And besides, he still has to ask Louis to come with him to his release party. He'll ask Niall and Liam to come too, so that he doesn't look suspicious with only Louis by his side as they walk down the red carpet. Maybe he'll even ask Nick.

He spies a familiar blonde girl that he's sure he met at the party, and taps he on the shoulder.

“Sorry, Jessica, right?” He asks nervously, and her eyes light up momentously and she smiles wide, her pale-pink lips shining.

“Harry! What a surprise,” she giggles lightly, “Have you come to see me?”

“Uhh, actually, I'm here to see Louis,” he mumbled awkwardly, scratching behind his head. “Do you know where his dorm is? I've never been here before.”

Her face falls, and her friends laugh and whisper behind her. Harry feels terrible, because Jessica seemed so sure that Harry was there to ask her out, and now she looks like she might cry, if she doesn't die from embarrassment first.

“But, I, uh, actually want to talk to you, too. Walk with me to Louis?” He cringes internally, because he doesn't want to get her hopes up, really, he doesn't.

But Harry's a sucker for sad things.

She looks back up at him and bites on her lip, seemingly attempting to be seductive, and Harry smiles a tentative half-smile as she turns and waves at her friends, before gesturing for Harry to walk with her.

He doesn't listen to her babble on as he walks - too mystified by the architecture and old-school beauty of the university. The walls are made of stone, grey with water marks, and covered in vines that range from bright green, to orange, to red, and it reminds Harry of the autumns in Holmes Chapel, where the trees on his street stretched for miles in warm auburns and faint crimsons. There's a courtyard when they turn a corner, a fountain in the middle that's been switched off, a thin layer of shimmering ice coating the surface of the water. Harry immediately loves the place.

Harry finds himself thinking that he wouldn't make waking up to this in the morning, this aesthetically pleasing sight of fountains and old architecture. He can see an early summer morning here, a slight breeze brushing through the courtyard, the sun shining down on to the fountain, casting a radiant light that coats everything in warmth and gold.

They turn a sharp corner and come to the end of the building, high arches opening up on to a expanse of decaying, damp grass with brick pathways meandering through it. There's several buildings looming up at the end of the field, stretching quite far down.

“Those are our dorms,” Jessica explains, pointing at a white building about five spaces down. “That one is Louis’. He lives on the third floor in number one-nine-nine-six.”

Harry just grins to himself, because that's his birth year.

“Thank you so much,” Harry says earnestly, stepping off of the concrete and on to the soft feel of the grass.

“Um, Harry!” She calls after him, her expression shy and timid. “What was it that you wanted to talk to me about?”

“Uh, it can wait,” Harry replies nervously, and hopes that he seems shy instead of dick-like.

Her face falls and she smiles a bit before turning away and slipping out of sight.

Harry feels like utter shit, and curses himself and his words and his inability to speak to females. This he thinks is why he's dating a man right now.

A man who is acting like a woman.

But that's beside the point.

Harry steps on to the pale brick and follows it as it winds through the grass. He admires the talk, leafless trees sprawling against the greying sky, and spots a few wet patches of grass where the small piles of snow have already melted. He can feel it coming, the soft fall of the white substance that makes Harry endlessly happy.

There are vintage lampposts placed randomly around, and a few benches strewn about with students on them, cuddling or studying or lying about for an afternoon nap. Harry wishes he could've experienced is life, this constant buzz of assignments and parties and overall happiness. He wonders what it would be like to be in Uni, to walk this route every day and to admire the gorgeous scenery that lies before him. To study interesting topics and learn new things and not be pushed to do anything.

Eventually, he reaches Louis’ building, a tall, white, brick building that's slightly more modern than the rest of the university. He sees several floors and corridors and the building grows taller, and he's thankful when he takes the stairs that Louis is only on the third floor.

The stairwell smells faintly of smoke and piss, and Harry is sure that this is an all-male dorm, and if the males currently residing here are anything like Niall, they must tear this place apart.

He stops outside Louis’ door, the number _1996_ etched across it in golden letters that glint in the faint sunlight of the afternoon. He knocks cautiously, suddenly wondering what he's even doing here, what he's going to say to Louis, and he's almost thankful when there's no answer. Almost.

He groans and leans back against the door, sighing, before falling in to the dorm as the door swings open, and he lands on his arse, in a mess of tangled limbs and sparkling boots, knocking his head on the open door.

He rubs his head as he stands up, turning around and surveying the dorm room. He closes the door, and step forward in the entrance and in to the living room (if you could call it that) with a worn out, black leather sofa, a plush ivory armchair and an acceptable television. All three pieces of furniture look like they've seen better days.

To Harry's left, there's an open archway that goes in to the kitchen, with a silver fridge and loads of photos held to it with magnets that spell out crude words. Harry's feet take him there, and he finds himself staring at pictures of the boys, of Louis, Niall, Liam, and even Zayn, at carnivals, at the park, in a pub, all with doe-eyes and smiles that look so big that they take up half of their faces. Harry finds himself absently tracing the outline of Louis’ face in the photos, tracing his smile and his sparkling eyes that are so blue against his tanned face and dark cheekbones.

Harry wonders again what it would be like to spend Uni partying it up with his mates. What it would be like if he was there with them in the photos. Yeah, he's nineteen, and yeah, he might just be able to get in to Uni if he really wanted to, but an incomplete high school education and the backing of leaving school to become an indie sensation might not get him very far.

And besides, he knows that he would always find a pathway back to what he loves most, a way to get back to singing.

Besides the large fridge, the kitchen is relatively small, and Harry can cross from one end to the other in three steps, and it's not just because he has enormous strides. There's a stove on top of an oven, a few counters and a sink piled high with dirty dishes. Harry hates a dirty house, and he finds himself compelled to wash the dishes, but he stops himself because that would be extremely weird and an invasion of privacy.

He may as well do the washing and fold Louis’ briefs.

He leaves the kitchen and walks a total of two steps back in to the living room, and really, the entire place is just one big room. He toes at magazines on the floor with his overly-pink boots, pushing them out of the way in case he ends up slipping on the glossy half-naked women. To the left of the living room are three doors, and they're all pulled shut tightly, and Harry really doesn't want to intrude because one of them is Niall's room, and it wouldn't be fair to stalk in there, and it wouldn't be fair to just go in to Louis’ room either.

Harry hopes that Louis comes home before Niall, because he doesn't feel like dealing with an angry Irishman who specifically told him to stay away. He spots a bookshelf in the corner of the room, the wood splintering on one side, but the shelves are filled to the brim with novels. Harry saunters over before he can stop himself, his eyes skipping across the titles. The bookshelf is stocked with almost everything, from sport biographies to Shakespeare. Harry has to stifle a gasp as he runs his fingers over the spines of _A Midsummer Night's Dream_ and _Romeo and Juliet_. He finds himself pulling one of the books out and flipping through the old, dog-eared pages that are highlighted with little tiny notes scrawled everywhere that could only belong to Louis. Harry suddenly wants to read them all. 

He's not sure how he doesn't get whiplash when he hears the door shut, and he whips his head around in shock.

Louis Tomlinson is standing a few steps behind the couch, his body clad in tight shorts that frame his thick, muscular thighs and, _oh god_ , make other things extremely noticeable. His upper body is wrapped in a tight, long-sleeved gym shirt that exposes his nipples and the slight curve of his tummy. His hair is sweaty and strawy, his fringe curved to the side with damp fingers. His eyes are stark and bright against his skin, looking slightly concerned.

Harry's mouth falls open, and he starts to walk towards Louis, but he trips over his own feet and knocks in to the wall beside him. “Oops.”

Louis raises an eyebrow, his expression screaming _what the hell are you doing here_ , but all he says is, “Hi.”

Harry rights himself and coughs loudly, standing tall and gazing at Louis, who drops his sports bag that contains a soccer ball and a bottle of water that juts out where Louis hasn't zipped the bag up.

“Is there any reason you're in my flat?” Louis asks, his eyes flickering towards the aging copy of _Romeo and Juliet_ between Harry's slender fingertips. “You're not a kleptomaniac, are you?”

Harry's eyes fall to the book clasped between his fingers, and he drops it stupidly with the clatter, before shaking his head and bending down to pick it up. “Um, no, I'm not. I just - I like Shakespeare.”

“Evidently so,” Louis replies thinly, his voice thick and sweet like syrup, and Harry can't speak.

Harry, with his poor social skills, can barely keep up with normal conversation, let alone this type. Louis is speaking cryptically with words that don't really mean anything, and Harry doesn't know how to reply, so he just looks down at the book in his hands before returning it to the bookshelf.

“I'm gonna shower,” Louis’ voice breaks through the silence in the flat, and before Harry can reply, Louis has thrown his bag in to the right door - thank God Harry didn't pry, he would've gone in to the left door - and locked himself in the middle door.

Harry hears the shower turn on and it goes for a good fifteen minutes or so, and Harry sits on the worn couch, his head in his hands and his mind clouding with thoughts. The adrenaline from the performance has worn off completely, and now Harry's wondering if he ever had a plan at all. What is he supposed to say to Louis? He's terrible in these situations, and it looks like his confidence has up and gone and left him a withering mess. He doesn't even know what they're supposed to be resolving, the fact that Louis is ignoring him? What if it's Harry's fault? Harry looks up and stares at the walls, trying to find anything to calm his thoughts. There's minimal decoration, just a few abstract pictures blown up on to a canvas, and some pictures of themselves stuck up with a few pieces of tac. There's a framed picture of a dog wearing sunglasses, and a few song quotes strewn haphazardly throughout the dorm.

While Harry's squinting to read something, the door opens and Louis emerges in a pair of sweatpants and a plain white tee, his hair fluffy and messy from being towel dried. His eyes widen, seemingly surprised to see Harry still seated on the sofa, and his eyes soften around the edges before he curls up in the armchair opposite Harry.

Harry's feeling a little stung, because the couch he's seated on obviously can seat more than two people, and it's like Louis is distancing himself physically right now as well as mentally.

“So I'm going to ask you again, although I'm quite sure I know the answer, but what are you doing here?” Louis drawls, his voice laced with sarcasm.

Harry hates how Louis hides himself behind sarcasm as his defense. He never opens up, and he attacks people with his words as soon as he feels threatened to share anything. He's like a kitten, Harry thinks, a kitten with massive emotional problems that's all cute and cuddly, until you accidentally step on his tail or forget to feed him, and then he lashes out, all claws and gnashing teeth.

Harry thinks this is the best form of poetic device that he's ever used to describe Louis.

“Well, um, I've come to invite you to my EP album launch. It's pretty huge, there's gonna be a red carpet and a massive party, and I'd really like you to be there with me.”

There's silence, and Louis’ demeanor visibly sags, and his face softens out all it's hard edges and he murmurs, “You couldn't have just texted me and asked me?”

“No, Louis,” Harry clips, starting to get angry. “I wanted to ask you in person. You are my _boyfriend_ , after all.”   

“That's great, Haz,” Louis smiles lightly, and he looks really happy for Harry, but solemn at the same time. “I'm not sure I'll be able to make it, I've got loads of assignments and stuff-”

“Bullshit, Louis.”

Louis looks taken aback as Harry's loud voice rumbles through the dorm. He stands up, tugging at his curls, and quite frankly, he's fed up with Louis.

“You've been holed up, doing assignments for the past two weeks. Niall says you've run out of school work to do, so you just spend your time on the footie field pushing for captain, and that's great, and I'm sure you’ll make it, but it's not just about that. You've been blatantly ignoring me, and I've been so mature about this, I've forgiven you because this isn't some sappy teenage romance, where one fucks up and the other stays away until some big romantic gesture is made and everything is okay again. No, Louis. This is real life. This is reality, where relationships are built on cooperation and fucking _honesty_ Louis, and they require hard work to get anywhere. And I know you haven't got any experience with relationships, and frankly, neither do I, but I know exactly what's needed to make this work, and I can't do it all on my own. So I'm here, asking and begging you to tell me - _fuck,_ I'll even get on my knees and beg you Louis, just tell me, _what's going on_?”

Harry doesn't know where his outburst came from, and by the looks of it, Louis doesn't know either. His words hand in the air around them, constricting them like chains pulled taught, and suddenly, Harry is feeling _extremely_ awkward. Maybe he was too harsh on Louis. No, he was actually lenient. He could've completely cussed him out and called him terrible things - the word coward springs to mind - but he didn't. Because he's kind like that.

“For Gods sake Louis, just say something-”

Harry's cut off by a pair of warm and moist lips pressing to his. His eyes fly open in shock, and all he can see is the tangle of Louis’ soft hair and the flutter of his eyelashes against his cheeks. Harry sighs deeply as he sinks in to the kiss, his arms coming to wrap tightly around Louis’ waist, pulling him flush against Harry. Louis’ hands are pressed against his pecks, the fabric of his trench-coat bundled up his between his fingers. Harry's missed this, for two weeks, he's missed this soft press of Louis’ lips against his, the tickle of his hair as it brushes against his nose, the feel of Louis’ curvy body pressed tightly against his.

“You're so hot when you're all confident and angry.” Louis licks in to his mouth, their lips sliding against each other's, faster and faster.

They're gripping at each other, hands sliding up and down each other's bodies, and Harry is suddenly lifting Louis up, as if by instinct, and pressing him against the wall behind the television. The air has changed around them, gone from solemn and chaste to steamy very quickly. It's like the air around them is charged and it crackles with passion as Louis wraps his legs around Harry's waist, his feet hooking just above Harry's arse. His fingers are tugging at Harry's hair, eliciting small moans from him that Louis swallows delightedly.

Harry can't help himself as he starts gyrating his hips, moving them in slow circles against Louis’ crotch, before grinding right down on Louis.

“Fuck Haz,” Louis mewls, and Harry breaks the kiss to start pressing kisses down Louis’ neck. “Where did you learn this stuff?”

“Just feels right,” Harry murmurs against his neck, biting and tracing his teeth down Louis’ golden, goosebump-ridden skin.

“You were made for this,” Louis whispers, his head thrown back against the wall.

Harry trails his lips gently down Louis’ neck, stopping below the dip in Louis’ collarbone to bite down harshly. Louis hisses between his teeth, their hips still bucking against each other's.

“Little softer, Haz,” Louis breathes out when Harry bites too hard. “Yeah, like that. Use your tongue too - _oh god_ , yeah, and suck if you wanna make a mark.”

Harry pulls away a few seconds later, grinning wolfishly at the purpling bruise forming on Louis’ chest.

Louis is squirming against Harry, and Harry drops him back to the ground, where he immediately takes control and tugs Harry towards the sofa. He idly wonders if this is why the sofa is so worn-out. He giggles to himself.

“This is funny to you then?” Louis tries to seem serious, but the corners of his mouth are twitching. “I'll show you exactly how funny this is.”

“Wait, Lou...” Harry trails off uncertainly as Louis sits astride Harry.

“We'll talk later,” Louis brushes him off with a quick snap of his hips against Harry.

Harry sucks in a breath and moans as Louis keeps rubbing against him, and he's painfully hard, and he wonders if this is it, if him and Louis are going to finally do something to relieve this pent-up sexual frustration he's had for so long.

Louis leans down and kisses him fully, their lips both wet and needy. Harry's arms come up to pinch at Louis’ hips, pulling him down so that they're chest-to-chest. Never once do they stop grinding against each other, never once do their throats stop releasing low moans that make Harry's cock twitch in his pants.

Harry decides through his lust-clouded brain that this is much better than talking.

Louis sits up to pull his shirt off, and Harry's lips part as he stares up at Louis’ golden chest, taught and muscular except for the small bulge of tummy at the bottom. Harry decides that yeah, Louis is so fit, but he loves Louis’ tummy more than anything.

Louis notices Harry starting at the end of his stomach near his little bop, and instinctively covers his stomach up. Harry gazes in to Louis’ eyes, and they're shining with insecurity and the fear of judgement. Harry sits up, his back pressing uncomfortably against the arm of the sofa, pulling Louis with him, and he gently tugs Louis’ arms away from his stomach.

“It's beautiful. I love your stomach.” Harry peppers kisses across the span of Louis’ stomach, and Louis hides his face in his hands, his cheeks burning red.

“I try to work out so much, and everything else has sort've disappeared, except for there. It's frustrating-”

“Shut up, Louis. I love it.”

And Louis’ mouth is hanging open, mid-sentence, before he flushes again and Harry grins against his navel, nipping at the hair of Louis’ garden path. Louis sits back down, and Harry cups the swell of his arse with his hands, kneading the skin, and Louis keels, arching his back and pushing his arse back in to Harry's large hands.

“Ah, Lou, your arse is amazing,” Harry murmurs, his lips peppering kisses across Louis’ jaw.

And Louis smells of shampoo and soap and musk, and Harry wants to memorize the smell, wants it to follow him everywhere he goes. Harry's tongue darts out to tickle Louis’ earlobe, before pulling it in to his mouth and biting down on it.

“Enough teasing, you tosser,” Louis struggles to get out through his labored breathing, his hips snapping down on Harry's cock.

Louis sits up so that his arse is flush against Harry's cock, and he starts sliding up and down Harry's crotch, and Harry feels it all the way deep inside his stomach. They stay like that, Louis seated on top of Harry, their cocks rubbing together through the fabric of their clothing. Harry needs more friction, craves it, so he bucks up and it causes Louis to whimper.

“Oh God, Harry,” he moans, his fingers gripping the fabric of his trench coat, pulling it and signaling for Harry to take it off.

Harry lost his beanie earlier on, and it's probably on the floor somewhere, but he pulls off his trench coat and his shirt until he's shirtless and panting for Louis. Louis presses his hands to Harry's chest, and they're warm and his nails dig in to Harry lightly, his one hand grasping one of Harry's nipples as he sucks on the other one in to his mouth and Harry bucks upwards again against his will.

His stomach is swirling in a heavenly way, and his mind is foggy, and all he can think is _God, Lou. Yeah, oh, fuck. Like that, yeah._

Harry feels something building in his lower stomach, and he grips on to Louis’ arse tighter and pulls him closer so that Harry can feel the outline of Louis’ cock pressed against his own, and he chases the feeling. They're grinding helplessly against each other, rutting and moaning.

“Missed you Haz,” Louis whines as he speeds up, a light sheen of sweat coating his face, and it makes him glow even brighter. “God, you're so good at this. Rubbing up against me perfectly. Right where I want you.”

Harry loves the way Louis talks to him, and he has no shame as he sinks his fingers in to Louis’ arse, moaning loudly and whimpering. “ _Fuck_ Lou, keep talking to me like that, yeah.”

“Need more of you,” Louis suddenly says, pulling off of Harry and tugging off his sweatpants. He's clad in black boxers that are constricting Louis’ hard-on, and Harry loves the way he looks so impossibly thick through his boxers. Louis taps at the waistband of Harry's boxers that are sticking up above his skinnys, and Harry nods quickly and wriggles as Louis pulls them down with difficulty. He stops to pull Harry's boots, off, and he just raises his eyebrows and smiles really wide. “Nice boots, Harold.”

“Why thank you,” Harry smiles back, and suddenly his pants are off and Louis is rubbing up against him again.

“You're so big,” Louis grins as he looks down and watches them rut against each other. “Look at you, all thick and big and ready for me.”

Harry whines in the back of his throat, his face contorting in pleasure. He didn't realize how much he loves Louis’ dirty words until they're being whispered to him with Louis rubbing against him. Suddenly, Louis stops, and Harry groans at the loss of contact. Louis is still looking down at the outline of Harry cock straining against his boxers. Louis bites his lips, his eye blown wide with lust, and he crawls down Harry's body until his mouth is flush against Harry's cock.

“Holy shit,” Harry breathes when he feels the heat of Louis’ mouth breathing on him.

Harry is a mess right now, his hair stuck to his forehead and sweat beads gathering all across his body. It's all so much, he's missed Louis so much, and this feeling of him with him right now, them doing _this_ , it's so overwhelming and Harry has the urge to cry tears of joy.

Harry nods when Louis looks at him for permission, and Louis pulls his boxers off, and his cock slaps up to his his stomach as he sits, his back still pressed against the sofa, but he can't be bothered with the uncomfortable position, because Louis is looking up at him, his sparkling eyes no match for Harry's boots, and those bloody eyelashes are framing them perfectly and Harry could come just at the sight of Louis.

Louis grabs Harry's cock suddenly, and Harry moans loudly at the contact, because this is the first time someone is touching him, first time anyone has touched him there, and it feels so impossibly good, and the feeling is heightened because it's _Louis_ touching him. He starts jerking him off, up and down and Harry feels like he's going to explode. He's never felt this sensation before, and suddenly, Louis’ warm mouth is wrapped around his leaking tip and Harry makes an obscene noise that Louis seems to be getting off to.

“Keep making noise. Want the whole world to hear how wrecked you sound when I take you apart,” Louis instructs against Harry's cock, his tongue still swirling at the tip, ducking in to touch his slit and Harry's writhing about and he can't find anything to grip so he just curls his fingers in to his first and digs his nails in to his palm.

“Louis, oh, shit, _yes_ Louis. Like that, _oh god_ , so good,” Harry chokes out, whining and moaning and barely able to keep himself from spontaneously combusting.

Louis starts bobbing his head and taking more and more of Harry in, but Harry is impossibly large, and Louis keeps his hand around Harry's shaft, moving him up and down, slick and quick. Louis is doing things with his tongue that Harry thinks should be illegal because it's _so_ good, and he jerks upwards, choking Louis slightly, and Louis gives him a stern look and Harry mutters an apology he hopes is somewhat coherent.

Harry looks down to find Louis jerking himself off, him underwear pulled down to just underneath his balls, his hand wrapped around his red-flushed and leaking cock, and Harry's eyes bug out of his head because it's so utterly _hot_ watching Louis’ hand work himself.

It's all so good, Harry thinks, this feeling building inside of him, the small shocks of pleasure that run down his spine and through his whole body, the way his toes curl and the way he pants, and he knows he can't keep quiet, not when Louis looks so good doing what he's doing. Louis’ tongue is flat against his shaft as he bobs faster and faster, before sucking just at the head of Harry leaking cock, and suddenly, Harry feels this massive shock run through his body, and he moans louder and louder.

“Come for me, love.” Louis whispers. His wrist is moving impossibly quick and his mouth is sucking at him and suddenly Louis takes in all of Harry up to where his wrist is jerking him off and Harry is completely done.

“ _Fuck!_ Oh, shit, _Louis!_ ” with a loud cry of his boyfriend's name he's shooting down Louis’ throat. He's moaning incoherent words, his body riding out the aftershocks as he comes less and less with each spurt. Louis gags a bit but takes everything Harry has to offer, before pulling off, and Harry can't help himself as he lies back, exhausted, and watches Louis jerk himself off with quick tugs on his cock. Harry takes Louis’ cheek in his palm and leans up, despite his fatigue, to bite on Louis’ bottom lip, his shaky fingers wrapping around Louis’ hand, helping him get himself off. Harry swipes the tip of Louis’ cock, his eyes hazy and his body languid, and Louis can't keep himself upright anymore, falling down on Harry's chest. Harry's still exhausted, and he can barely breathe, but he turns Louis around so that he's lying on top of Harry, his back pressing in to Harry's chest, and Louis’ neck is exposed next to his lips, his head leaning back over his shoulder, and Harry knocks away Louis’ hand and bites in to Louis’ neck, before swiping up the saliva dribbling down Louis’ chin with his slender fingers and wraps his hand around Louis, pumping quickly and twisting his wrist the way Louis did to him.

“Fuck, Haz, so close. Oh god, your hands are amazing,” Louis moans against Harry's ear, and Harry just continues to lick and suck at Louis’ neck.

Harry tugs once, twice, three times more, and Louis is coming with a strangled cry, his body becoming slack against Harry, his cock spurting white lines across his golden chest, and Harry is mesmerized by the sight of Louis coming apart on top of him. Louis lies there, his chest rising and falling quickly, and Harry can see the skin pulsing on his chest above his heart, and Harry's never been this close to Louis before. He's never been able to see the sweat beads on his skin, or the rise and fall of the skin near his heart, or the small highlights of lighter hair that stand out against his darker chestnut hair.

Louis slides down Harry's body, his arse rubbing against Harry's sensitive cock, and he winces quietly, and Louis turns around, pressing his body to Harry's and kissing him lazily.

“That was amazing, Harry. If I knew you were this great for your first time, I would've shagged you a long time ago,” Louis’ voice is scratchy and hoarse, and Harry loved the sound of it, mainly because Harry did that to him.

Harry blushes and giggles, pressing his face in to Louis’ hair, and Louis laughs and says, “We've just had sex, and you had no shame in the noises you were making, and now you're shy?”

“Leave me alone,” Harry mumbles, inhaling the fresh scent of Louis’ shampoo.

“ _Oh Louis, Louis, yeah, keep talking to me like that, yeah_ ,” Louis imitates Harry, trying to get his voice deep and slow and desperate, and Harry squeaks, mortified, and tickles Louis to get him to stop.

Harry ignores the come that's being spread across his chest, but starts to shiver from the cold in the dorm, and Louis quickly stands up, tugging his underwear completely off and throwing it against a wall, before grabbing paper towel from the kitchen and a blanket, cleaning them off and wrapping them up in a blanket on the couch.

“This was, really nice,” Harry smiles in to Louis’ hair, as Louis traces nonsensical patterns on Harry's chest. “I missed you.”

“Missed you too, Haz,” Louis admits, and Harry reckons it counts more than when Louis yelled it out during sex. “And nice? I'm expecting better adjectives. I made you scream like that and all I get is nice?

Harry ignores the embarrassed blush on his cheeks and presses kisses to every inch of Louis’ face, murmuring “amazing”, “mind-blowing”, “perfect”, “fantastic”, every time he kisses a new place. Louis giggles and swipes at Harry, which causes another naked tickle fight, and eventually they're resting against each other quietly, the sun setting as the living room darkens, but neither of them move to turn on a light. Harry loves this peaceful feeling inside of him, with Louis wrapped up in his arms and the sun setting as they just embrace each other. Harry could most definitely get used to this.

There's a voice tugging at him insistently, saying “Talk to Louis! Sex was just a distraction!” but he ignores it and pulls Louis closer to him, pressing a kiss to his temple and closing his eyes to rest a bit.

 

~

 

“Well, well well.”

Harry's eyes crack open, startled out of his dreamless sleep, to find a shock of blonde hair and a smug smile that smells faintly of Irish whiskey right in his face. He jerks back and knocks his head on the sofa arm behind him, and Niall cackles like a maniac and falls back in to the armchair opposite them.

“You'll wake him up,” Harry whispers fiercely, and Niall closes his mouth, but he can't contain his laughter and spits in Harry's face as he lets out loud guffaws again.

“I'm sorry Haz, I'm just glad you finally shagged him,” Niall congratulates him, slapping his cheek before heading to the kitchen.

Harry feels Louis stir next to him, and he groans, before rolling over on top of Harry and looking up to meet his gaze with a dopey smile on his face. “Hiya, love.”

“Hey sweetcheeks,” Harry replies, wiggling his eyebrows and pressing a soft kiss to Louis’ lips. “Niall's here.”

“So I heard,” Louis rolls his eyes fondly, and Harry's just become painfully aware about how they're both naked, and Louis is flush on top of him, and the way their cocks press together is already making Harry beg for more.

Louis must feel it too, because he bites Harry's bottom lip, letting it go with a pop before rolling off of Harry before things get too heated all over again.

“Please tell me ya’ lot didn't shag on the couch,” Niall says loudly as he slumps back in to the armchair and cracks open his beer.

“No!” Harry yells.

“Yes!” Louis shouts at the same time, looking smug while Harry looks distraught.

“You animals!” Niall lets out another snort of laughter, and Harry hides his face behind Louis’, buried in his hair.

“Harry couldn't help himself, really,” Louis quips, and Harry slaps his bare chest.

“Oh god, you two aren't naked are you?” Niall's eyes widen as he takes in the trail of clothing and the bare chests of both of them.

“No,” Louis mumbles, clenching Harry tighter, “and even if we were, you can't join. Only I get to see Harry naked.”

“Alright, stand up then if you're so smug,” Niall raises a challenging eyebrow, a grin on his face.

And as if matters couldn't get any worse, the door flies open and Liam strolls in, holding packets of takeaway and yelling, “Honey, I'm home! Louis, it's time to stop being a tit and miserable and - _oh_.”

Harry groans and finds himself wishing he could disappear right then and there. Louis welcomes Liam as if nothing is wrong, looking sly and rather complacent. Harry thinks he's going to die.

“If you'll excuse us, I think Harry and I are going to get dressed in the comfort of my bedroom. Liam, be a darling and grab our clothes?” And Liam looks as distraught as Harry, but complies nonetheless, and Harry knows it's because Liam is nice and Niall would probably throw them out the window and on to the grass outside.

Louis wraps the blanket tightly around them both, but it doesn't quite fit, so Harry just picks Louis up by the waist, and images of him pinning Louis to the wall in this very position make him shudder involuntarily. Louis giggles against his neck and keeps the blanket firmly around them as Harry saunters towards Louis’ door, Liam in tow with their clothing. Liam just opens the door for them, throws their clothing in and all but sprints out. Harry kicks the door closed with his foot, smiling because it was so smooth compared to Harry's normal clumsiness, and drops Louis on the bed and climbs over him, giggling and kissing him lightly, their mouths open and warm.

Yeah, Harry could definitely get used to this.    

Louis twines his hands around Harry's neck, pulling him closer as their lips move perfectly together. It's a clash of teeth and lips and is pretty sloppy and lazy, but that's because they're both smiling too wide to kiss properly.

“Come on, love. Let's get dressed,” Louis says, his stomach rumbling. “You tire me out.”

“Likewise,” Harry smirks, feeling slightly peckish himself. 

They both redress themselves, slowly, and Harry will never admit to tripping over his skinny jeans when Louis bends down - naked, might he add - to pick up his boxers. When they're finally presentable, Louis opens the door and they stride out, and it might resemble a walk of shame, but at least they're doing it together.

Niall and Liam let out a slow clap from the couch, takeaway balanced carefully on their laps, and Louis bows and flips them off, laughing, while Harry follows him awkwardly to the kitchen, his cheeks red and his heart thrumming. Louis grabs a box of noodles for himself and sweet and sour chicken for Harry, before they join Niall and Liam on the couch, squished up against each other as they watch Man United take on Liverpool.

It feels a lot like a guy's night, and Harry's never really been to one before, but it feels really good to have three boys next to him shouting at the telly, sipping at beer and laughing hysterically at each other. Even more, it feels good because he's right there with them, in the conversations, Louis’ hand on his knee, and Harry has never felt such an overwhelming sense of belonging.


	16. Baby Blue Eyes

Everything has gone back to normal.

Well, for the most part, anyway.

Harry and Louis are closer than ever, borderline inseparable, constantly around each other or wound in each other's embrace. Louis starts staying at Harry's place again, and although there are a few awkward gaps in their usual flowing conversation sometimes, things are okay between them. Harry makes Louis tea in the morning before taking him to Uni on his respective class days, while he drives off to work. It's all very domestic, Harry thinks to himself, but he kind of really likes it, 'cause it's routine, and Harry loves routine.

Louis doesn't stay over every night, much to Harry's dismay. The most is four nights a week, because he generally stays back at his dorm when he has early morning footie practice, or he'll stay back if he's got assignments and essays to work on.

Harry had offered one night for Louis to bring all his work over, so that Harry could see him and Louis could do his creative writing task on “ _the several sides to a person_ ” with the aid of an indie singer who was for the most part, an emotional wreck, and who had mounds of experience with people like that. Mainly himself.

They managed to get through four extremely deep paragraphs that were scratched on to a piece of paper, Harry's loops contrasting with Louis’boyish scribbles. It would've been worthy of a Grammy had it been a song, Harry reckoned, before the sexual tension between them became too much and Harry ended up coming right on to said piece of paper. They spent the rest of the night trying to finish Louis’paper, frantically scribbling, and Harry found himself utterly frustrated because he couldn't remember for the life of him what his favourite two sentences at the end of paragraph three were. He proceeded to spend an hour stalking about the house with an angry, frustrated pout decorating his plump lips and hands carding roughly through his curls. Needless to say, Louis had never come over for schoolwork again.

Of course, there's always the looming cloud of Louis’emotional problems that is ever present, grey and thundering and constantly on top of them when they exist in the same room. Harry can feel it, the itching at the back of his mind, the niggling that begs him to ask Louis what actually happened that night, and in turn, what caused him to completely pull away from Harry. He's tried a whopping total of two times to bring up the subject with Louis (but you can't blame him, because really, he's terrible at approaching awkward circumstances) and they hadn't been productive, exactly. Both times, it ended in Harry panting, his head fuzzy and his mind incoherent in a post-coital daze.

He's decided that this is Louis’number one way of avoiding anything he doesn't want to face.

It's pretty effective.

So effective that Harry ends up ignoring the feeling, partly because it doesn't really seem to affect their relationship anymore, and partly because Louis is a bubbling ray of sunshine in his life again, constantly evoking breathless laughs from his body and mad grins. He's witty, sarcastic, and Harry forgets for the most part that there was anything wrong at all.

Currently, it's the night before Harry's EP release, and he cannot sleep. He's tossed and turned for hours on end, his eyes stinging from lack of sleep, but his mind unwilling to shut up. He can't stop himself from running through the worst possible scenarios in his head.

He could trip on the red carpet, have an anxiety attack live on television, burst out crying for no apparent reason (as Harry does), or he could accidentally kiss Louis because it's Louis and really, who can help themselves? Or potentially, a meteor hurtling to earth could blow them all to smithereens.

Harry hopes that that option is more likely than kissing Louis.

He's ready for any potential questions about Louis, though, already having run over his answers countless times about three hours ago. That was the first topic in his head that caused the most anxiety, and he's brushed that to the side now, confident that he'll be alright.

He's mainly nervous about people liking his songs during his performance. He's supposed to do a mini-concert, with all of his songs, and he knows it's going to be impossible not to lose himself in Louis’eyes as he sings about the two of them and Harry's messed up feelings. He's scared that no one will enjoy his songs, that sales will flop, and that ultimately, he'll end up on the side of the street, and his only companion will be a stray cat named Beatrice.

Maybe it's time that Harry goes to bed.

He groans, frustrated, and punches his pillowcase in a futile attempt at getting comfortable. He rolls around a few more times, before opening and re-closing his eyes. He pulls the covers closer around his body, the cold air raising hairs on his smooth skin. He buries himself deeper and eventually, falls asleep.

 

~

 

The next morning comes much too soon, and a lovely wake up call from Rebecca pulls him out of his light slumber. It feels like he's only been asleep for five minutes, and his eyes are burning and are crusty with sleep as he fumbles blindly for his phone.

“Hello?” he croaks dazedly, wiping his face with an ice-cold hand.

“Wake up sunshine! Today is the day! You've got to get to hair and makeup by one, and then wardrobe by three, because you're in a car at four thirty and on the carpet at five! Gather all your hooligans and get down to the studio!” Rebecca sounds too cheery, and Harry moans, although a small burst of excitement pools in his stomach.

“M’kay. Bye now,” he shuts off the call, refusing to chide himself for being rude. It's too early and all together too stressful right now.

Eventually, he rises and calls Louis, who has a few colourful words to throw at him in a dazzling morning voice. Louis promises he'll get Niall and Liam up and at the coffee shop in half an hour, where they'll meet before driving with Harry to the studio.

Harry dresses himself in blue jeans, because all his black ones are either in the wash or ripped beyond what is deemed appropriate in public. He crinkles his nose when he spots the lighter pair of denims, but at least they're kind of tight on his legs. Harry isn't used to such non-restrictive trousers as he waddles around, kicking his legs out.

He grabs a thermal vest with a U-neck that hides perfectly underneath one of his yellow silky shirts and a large leather jacket. He pulls on black converse and cringes. He just has no energy for anything stylish today it seems.

He shakes his hair out and brushes it back with cold, static fingers that are hard to move, and tries to calm the terror rising in his chest. He feels like he needs terrible horror movie music playing in the background, because this party is his hypothetical closet, and Harry is the blonde idiot hearing noises and scratches, and is slowly being forced to open it to face his untimely demise.

Harry really should've gotten more sleep last night.

He's eventually out of the house and in the bitter cold, shivering as he walks swiftly to his car. He pulls on a pair of gloves from the cubbyhole and warms himself up as he pulls out of his slippery driveway.

It takes him a minute to get to the coffee shop, and he hopes that the boys are all in there, because if not, he might just combust with stress.

He steps out of his car, cursing the wind and the day and everything around him. He shouldn't be in such a terrible mood, but he is, and he doesn't really know how or why. He's been stressed out before, but it's never resulted in this.

He listens to the crunch of dead vegetation beneath his sneakers, curling in on himself, hiding from the cold like a child from a ghost. He licks his chapped lips as he pushes open the door with a chime, and a wave of relief rushes though him when he spots three familiar faces that are pinched up and grumpy. Harry knows exactly how they feel. 

“Hey,” Harry greets lamely, settling down next to Louis and pressing a chaste kiss to his lips.

Louis looks warm and fuzzy and his lips taste of cinnamon and coffee Harry wants him to be a blanket so he can curl it around himself and keep the warmth in. His eyes are a gorgeous shade of teal, bright and fresh, contrasting with the slightly mauve bags beneath his eyes. Louis smiles at him and returns the favour, a quick peck, but not before checking if anyone is staring.

Daisy has implemented a no-photos rule in the café, and gotten one-sided windows so that no one can peak through the glass where Harry usually sits. He thanked her endlessly and she just winked at him, and whispered something no grandmother should whisper, about him and her own grandson, nonetheless. He blushed profusely and walked away with an awkward giggle.

So here they are, Niall swearing at him and Liam's face slipping from the palm that's holding him up, knocking his head on the table while everyone else laughs at him. Louis hums along, his hand curled around Harry's thigh, squeezing gently from time to time.

“So like, what are we wearing?” Niall asks with a mouth full of scone and a milk mustache.

“Apparently cause like, you're all with me, they've picked out like different formal wear that they think would match you,” Harry explains, sipping at his own creamy drink. “They have your pictures and everything.”

“Fuckin’great,” Niall grins.

“And we all like walk down together?” Louis questions from next to him, dusting the pad of his thumb along the inside of Harry's thigh.

“Yeah, um, you guys are like my plus three, if you will. So you'd all walk down with me,” Harry smiles lightly, the coffee finally kick-starting his system. “I'm so nervous.”

“You'll be great, and everyone will love you,” Louis reassures him with kind words and a loving squeeze. “We'll all be there to support you, no matter what happens.”

“Yeah, I'm so excited to hear you sing live,” Liam chimes in, probably trying to ease Harry's distress, but it just succeeds in making him more nervous. “Been waiting ages, mate. And I'm gonna download your songs too. Loved the ones you've already released. Don't worry - you'll be perfect.”

Harry gulps and smiles thinly at Liam, thanking him quietly and tucking his curls behind his ears when they fall down to tickle his face. It's become a nervous habit since his hair has grown so long, and although he feels rather like an anxious teenage girl, he doesn't really care anymore.

“Just relax, love,” Louis whispers in his ear sometime later, when Niall and Liam are absorbed in a heated conversation about fried Oreos.

Harry swivels and looks at Louis, and wills himself to relax. He's got his rock next to him for the entire day, his confidence booster, so everything should go smoothly.

Right?

Eventually, after much nagging from Harry, the boys clamber in to his car at around twelve thirty. The studio is on the other side of town, and even though it's noon, it's Friday and there's always bound to be some sort of traffic.

Harry taps incessantly on the wheel, his teeth gnawing his lips raw and his leg shaking. Louis keeps giving him weary glances, but says nothing. The three of them have amicable conversation, but Harry decides to stay out of it. He wants to clear his head as much as he can. 

He drowns out the drone of gruff male voices and focuses on the road ahead of him. He watches the tar disappear beneath his large black Land Rover as he speeds up, his frazzled jade eyes constantly flickering towards the clock on the dashboard that seems to be taunting him with the climbing numbers. He tries to distract himself by watching the bustling city in front of him, the cars whizzing by and the buildings tall and looming in the frosty sky. He keeps his eyes on the road, though, like any good driver would. They stop at a traffic light, and despite the bone-rattling cold outside, Harry opens his window to breathe in some of the crisp air that will surely calm him.

He breathes in deeply, and suddenly hears a squeal. He whips his head around and looks outside of his car, only to find a smaller, red Honda that is currently housing three squealing girls. Harry smiles despite himself.

“Oh my god, Harry! Smile for us please, we're such big fans! We've already pre-ordered your EP and we can't wait to listen to it tonight!” A blonde girl with pale blue eyes is yelling from the passenger seat.

Harry smiles a dazzling smile and the girls squeal again, and he hears Louis laugh next to him. The girls obviously hear it and lean in closer to see whom the laugh belongs to.

“Louis! Oh my god, are you guys like, going on a date or something? This is honestly the best day ever, please take a photo with Harry!”

Louis leans in towards the ajar window and smiles widely, his face looking soft, and Harry can't stop himself from grinning at the beautiful boy beside him, the boy with his heart-melting smile and the crinkles by his eyes.

The light turns green, and Harry thanks the girls and waves them off as he turns right and they continue straight. He closes the window again, and leans back in his leather seat, his heart still racing and his mind still whirring, but not as much as before.

Niall and Liam are complaining in the back about how no one loves them, about how their mates are famous and they're just road kill. Harry snorts and blindly thrashes around in the back, succeeding in his goal when he hears a yelp after he's pinched Niall's knee.

“Low blow man, you know I've got problems there,” Niall whines playfully.

“Don't you ever get tired of that?” He hears Liam question when he finally turns on the road of the studio. It's still about two kilometres down, but he feels a bit of the weight lift from his shoulders knowing that he's close.

“Tired of what?” Harry replies, his eyes finding Liam's warm umber ones in the rearview mirror.

“All those girls and fans. Like, everyone knows you wherever you go,” Liam says.

“Sometimes. Depends on how I'm feeling that day. I hate getting mobbed, and that sometimes happens. I'll take photos with the fans, I don't mind that, but I can't deal with thousands of screaming girls that all come at me at the same time. Mostly I'm just glad that they support me, and when it becomes tiresome, I just remember that I'd be nowhere without my fans.”

The car falls silent then, the only sound the constant thrum of the engine, the faint musical trickle emerging from the radio, and the occasional tap of Louis’ small thumbs on his iPhone.

“Hey mates, check this out,” Louis suddenly grins a devilish smile, passing the phone back to Niall and Liam.

“My god,” they both start laughing, and Harry's interest is immediately piqued.

“No, no, it's nothing,” Louis winks when Harry tells him this.

“Louis, come on,” Harry whines, stopping at another traffic light.

He turns to Louis and pulls his lip out in a pout, and Louis just tugs on his lip with his fingers before kissing him softly. Harry's eyes widen in surprise, but he closes them and cups Louis’ small face in his large, gentle hands. Niall and Liam are busy telling them to “get a room” and making obscene smacking noises with their mouths. Harry smiles in to the kiss and bites on Louis’ lips, and Louis mewls softly in the back of his throat, the sound drowned out by the radio, but Harry feels the vibrations of it and moans quietly.

He's brought out of this when the cars behind him start hooting, and he scrambles for the wheel and drives off.

“What was that for?” Harry asks, breathless, and Louis just sends him a dreamy smile.

“Because you're so very adorable,” Louis replies simply.

Harry knows there's something else going on, but he doesn't question it. They pull in to the studio and he's hopping out of the car, because they're late and he can already feel the wrath that is going to be released upon him.

They all stumble in to the room that's set up with makeup tables and bright lights and equipped with hundreds of hair products and several hair dryers that are all lined up. Harry doesn't understand why they just didn't come to his house and do it there, but Rebecca had assured him that there was too much to move and the actual artist's studio was closer to the venue in any case.

Suddenly, four women with obscenely-coloured hair and several body piercings are rushing at them, and the head stylist, Mariska May, is tutting at Harry for being late but pulling him in to a chair beside the rest of the boys.

“What are we going for today?” She asks him, and he just shrugs and replies, “Anything that looks good without you having to cut it.”

She rolls her eyes and sets to work on pulling his fringe up in a quiff and getting it to stay there. There's not much anyone can do with Liam’s hair, ’cause it's shaved down almost completely on the sides, with a strip of hair running down the centre of his head. They end up just pulling the front buts up higher so that there's a bit of a quiff there. Harry watches the other boys as they thrum with excitement, because this is their first time (minus Louis) doing anything like this, and Harry's lips turn up in an emotional grin. He loves doing this kind of thing for other people, loves watching them become excited over something he did for them, and will keep doing it until the day he dies.

Harry looks over to Louis and he seems to be staring at a photo of his phone, but Harry can't tell what it is. He's got a small half-grin on the side of his face, his eyes glassy, but not from crying. They're pulling and tugging at his hair, taking most of it over to one side, and Harry thinks he's going to be convulsing by the end of this if Louis is going to look this great.

It's almost two hours later when they're done with their hair and makeup, and although Harry feels kind of silly for having the stuff on, he's thankful, because it makes his skin look that much better. Everyone's skin is looking sleek and spotless, their hair pulled up in neat quiffs, besides Louis, who's hair is pulled over to side with a kind of arch underneath a thick piece that's been pulled over, the ends almost touching his cheek, his chestnut hair shining, and _wow_ , Harry gulps.

They bring out the rack of their outfits, grabbing each and ushering them behind wooden slides to get dressed.

 

~

 

 

Harry can't do this.

He's spent the entire day trying to calm himself, get himself in to a zone of peace and tranquility, and although it somewhat worked, it's temporary effects are gone now.

His heart is racing and he feels dizzy and he might just be sick. He can't breathe and the flashing lights are maiming his eyes. Why did he _ever_ think this was a good idea?

They're literally at the venue, driving down the last stretch of road, and already, there are people lined up behind glittering silver barriers, phones waving and tears falling down red faces. Harry has never seen so many fans in one place. The car is slowing down now, and the other boys are all getting pumped and laughing and chattering about excitedly, but Harry feels like he's drowning and that there's a weight on him, pushing him deeper and deeper. His chest is tight and starting to seize up, and he's seeing black spots. He's not sure whether it's from the lack of oxygen or the pure anxiety that his body has now surrendered to.

The car finally stops and the screams suddenly become louder and engulf his every sense. He chokes and splutters, burying his pallid face between his long, quivering fingers. Louis is quick to face him when he hears Harry's strangled noises of discomfort.

“Love? Haz, are you alight?” Louis panics slightly, which doesn't do much to calm Harry.

“I can't do this,” Harry gasps, taking ragged, short breaths as his chest quivers and his eyes water. “I don't know why I thought I could, I just seriously can't, and like I physically _can't_ go out there, and now I look like this and they can't see me this _weak_ -”

Liam and Niall have also turned their attention to Harry, and their eyes are wide and distraught, torn between letting Louis handle this and coming closer to comfort Harry. Harry himself isn't sure if he wants them to come closer, because he really can't do more people in his space right now. It's obvious that Louis has told them about Harry's anxiety problem, and that Louis knows how to deal with Harry's spontaneous panic attacks, but Liam's caring nature seems to be urging him forward, his brown eyes shining with concern when Harry meets his gaze between the gaps in his fingers. Niall's knuckles are white where they grip Liam's leg.

“You're not weak, love. You're anything but. You're this amazing person who is releasing music tonight all over the world that's going straight to number one, I can guarantee you that.”

“But what if no one likes my music? Or they don't like me? It'll be like all the terrible stuff I've experienced all over again, being rejected and pushed to the side and I can't do that,” Harry mumbles through his tears.

“Harry, shh, no, they'll love you, just li-”

“They won't, Louis!” Harry breaks and yells, the screams from outside piercing his ears and his body shaking beyond his control. He's completely lost it and he feels it. He needs to get stronger meds if this is going to happen to him, because despite taking his medication this morning, his body is still being overrun by his anxiety. “They'll absolutely hate me, I know they will. And I have to get up and sing a whole EP full of songs that everyone hates and-”

Harry is cut off by a pair of warm and moist lips that attach to his. He's breathing harshly through his nose as Louis kisses him, his eyelids fluttering shut and Louis’ soft palm comes to rest on Harry's cheek. Their lips move gently, slowly, Louis caressing Harry and all of his fears. Harry has to pull away a few times to breathe and stop himself from hyperventilating, but he can feel the calm that floods his body with Louis’ gentle touches and kisses that drive him mad.

Louis breaks away and presses kisses to his jaw and cheeks, his thumbs brushing away the warm tears that have taken up residence in the groove Harry's cheekbones. Harry is still hiccuping and his chest is still tight, but the security is urging them to step out of the car. Harry's thankful for the blacked-out windows, because he's a right mess and he doesn't think it would be too good if he were caught kissing Louis.

“We have to go, but I'll be right there, okay? Just look handsome for the photos like you always do, and I'll be right there for your interviews, okay? Come on love, you're better than your anxiety. I know you are.”

Harry sniffs and hopes his face doesn't give out signs of his distress. He breathes in deeply, coughing slightly before Louis rubs in his makeup to cover the tear tracks. He squeezes Harry's hand and presses a loving, fluttering kiss against his temple, before the door is open and the car is overtaken by screams and flashing lights.

Liam and Niall are first to step out, the blonde boy looking dapper in black skinny jeans that cling to his skinny legs, and a white dress shirt with a shining sleek black blazer. Liam follows, black dress pants adorning his bottom half, with a dark trench coat and white undershirt, a red scarf falling down his torso. Louis exits afterwards, his whole body clad in black, the black U-neck shirt dipping low enough for his _It Is What It Is_ tattoo to stand out next to his sunken collarbones. He looks like a model, all sharp cheekbones and lucid eyes that are stark against warm, tanned skin. Harry wants to jump him.

When Harry exits, the crowd goes mental. He's never seen so many security guards, let alone so many paparazzi and fans. The barriers are straining against the force of the teenage girls who are all screaming his name and how much they love him, and he smiles through glassy eyes and blows a kiss and a peace sign to all of them. The security is pushing them backwards, the sea of people all wanting to catch a glimpse of _the_ Harry Styles. The crowd stretches as far as the eye can see, mixed hues of browns and blondes, and a few blues and pinks of people's heads all mingling together. Harry feels like he has sensory overload.

Security places a hand on the small of his back and escorts him onwards towards the carpet where the other boys are waiting for him. They all clap him on the back and Liam squeezes his shoulder soothingly, his eyes speaking the words he can't say. _You're okay. We're all here for you._

And so they step on to the carpet, a foursome as they walk, stopping periodically to have thousands of flashing lights aimed at them as they all pose. They're screaming things about Harry and Louis, and Harry does his best to ignore the remarks as they make their way down. Louis is standing next to him the entire way, barely touching him, but close enough that he feels his warm, calming presence beside him, and that's almost enough to keep himself contained. Harry wants to reach out and grab him, hold him close and pepper kisses across his face, thanking him for being here for Harry and keeping him sane.

He'll have to thank him later.

Harry sees more people arriving, James Bay and The Neighbourhood, and even some celebrities he never thought he'd ever meet. His eyes widen and his jaw goes slack.

_Lorde and Taylor Swift are standing on the carpet._

Lorde.

And Taylor Swift.

Harry thinks he might combust.

He ignores his passing wave of complete and utter adoration as it fills his body and focuses on the photographs being taken of them. He's asked to take a few alone, and the rest of the boys are escorted towards the other end of the carpet, where news reporters are waiting for interviews from everyone. Harry throws peace signs and smiles and some straight-faced ones, his demeanor smoldering the way he had once seen Zayn's do in a photograph on Louis’ fridge.

He didn't get to know Zayn very well, but his heart kind of lurches as he remembers the raven-haired boy with eyes that always held secrets. It's a pity he moved away before Harry actually got to know him.

Eventually he meets up with the other boys, and Louis secretly squeezes his hand as they move towards their first interview. The overwhelming feelings from earlier are resurfacing, and he struggles to push them down. He smiles at the woman holding out a microphone to him, and all of the boys stop with him.

“Harry Styles! Thank you for stopping to chat to us,” the woman says, her eyes green and her hair tinged purple. He doesn't know what magazine or newspaper she's from, but smiles courteously anyway.

“It's a pleasure,” he replies politely.

“So, everyone is wondering what the songs on the EP are like, and what the rest of the titles are. Obviously, _Sad Song_ will feature, but can you give us a few hints about the other songs?” she wiggles her eyebrows in the hopes that Harry will reveal something.

“All I can say is that these songs are very close to my heart. I wrote them all myself, obviously some editing was done on them when I met with professional songwriters, but these are mainly all me. They're all about love and teenage life and the struggles that a lot of teenagers are facing.”

“That's beautiful Harry,” Niall chimes in, a sly grin on his face. “Told him to write a song about me ex-girlfriend and how she left me for a firefighter.”

The lads break out in to short fits of laughter, and Harry laughs along with them, smiling and flicking Niall on the cheek.

“You must be Niall Horan,” the interviewer giggles, gesturing to the blonde Irishman. “And you're Liam Payne? And of course, Louis Tomlinson! There's never a moment where we see Harry and we don't see you.”

“Harry's a great lad,” Louis replies easily, a calm smirk on his face. “Hopefully he'll set me up with a few of his lady friends tonight.”

“So you two aren't a thing then?”

“Yeah Lou, we aren't a thing? I'm hurt, to be honest. He lured me in with false pretenses only to take a knock at my famous friends,” Harry teases back, and Louis squeezes Harry's forearm with a cheeky grin playing on his plump bubblegum lips.

“I warned you, Harry. Did the same thing to me last year, he did. He's a cheeky lad, this one,” Liam chimes in, and they're all laughing and are swept away to another interview.

This goes on for another hour or so, shutters of cameras clicking endlessly away, the screams of fans a constant background noise. Harry wishes they had allowed him to take photos and meet a few of them.

He's feeling considerably better, and the boys are really making the interviews fun, and they're not asking him about his partying or him and Louis, unless it's a side question when Louis pinches Harry's cheek or makes a comment about Harry's dimples. They're all really focused on his music, and Harry really loves it. Yeah, he has to answer the same question a hundred times, explain again and again what his influences and inspirations for the songs were, but he strangely doesn't get tired of it. The sun has set already, the air crisp and chilling, bringing on the promise of a cold night. Harry pulls his blazer closer around him, trying to make up for the buttoned-down shirt the stylists stupidly dressed him in. He'll die from hypothermia before he even manages to reach the actual party.

All is going well, and Harry is really happy with the way he's acted, until they reach the last interview of the night. The boys are all getting really excited for the party, the promise of free, unlimited alcohol and music and celebrities fueling the long and grueling interview process.

“Hello boys! How are we all tonight? I'm Geneva from _The Mirror_ ,” Geneva introduces herself, a busty redhead with dark boysenberry lipstick and a gleam in her eye that Harry doesn't quite like.

“Nice to meet you,” he replies for about the fortieth time that night.   

Harry thinks it's going to be like any normal interview, and it is, up until a certain point in time.

“So, the fans want to know if you and Louis Tomlinson over here are in a relationship,” she cuts right in to it, and Harry is prepared for this, a little startled, but prepared.

“I'm actually planning on setting Louis up tonight with Taylor Swift,” Harry jokes, “Although, I need to formally meet her myself.”

“But the fans are going mental over you two. They call you _Larry Stylinson_ , and people have even said that they've seen you two kissing.”

Harry suddenly becomes tongue-tied, because, well, _what if they really have_? Harry hasn't been on twitter in a while, and what if there's a photo of them circulating around that they haven't seen? He's stuck, and he's taking a noticeable amount of time to reply, and _oh god_ -

“Harold over here wishes he could get with me,” he hears an angelic voice come to his rescue. “As much as Harry and I compliment each other greatly, it's actually Niall and Liam here that you should be worried about.”

The boys laugh gruffly and Liam presses a rough kiss to Niall's cheek, and the blonde boy pretends to faint in to Liam's arms. Geneva laughs and makes silly comments on them that has Harry rolling his eyes when he turns around to the sound of his name. James Bay is waving at him, and Harry waves back meekly with starstruck eyes.

“So then what's your opinion on the LGBT community, Harry?” She pushes, ignoring Louis’ sharp look at her insistence.

Harry turns around, looking the woman straight in the eye, and feeling quite uncomfortable. There's something about the energy that comes off of her that screams at Harry to walk away. Her eyes are challenging him, and he drops his gaze when he answers, because he doesn't like looking people in the eye, especially this woman.

“I believe that everyone is equal, and everyone deserves the same rights. Love is a beautiful gift and a powerful feeling, and we're blessed to be able to feel it. I believe love is not confined to gender. I don't believe in people who limit others and discriminate against them because of the gender that they love, or if they wish to be another gender. I'm a supporter, definitely.”

“Some people would argue that it goes against God to be gay,” Geneva quips, “What do you make of that?”

“I believe to bring religion in to it is just a way to hide from the facts. If there is a God out there somewhere, he will surely not discriminate against a boy for liking it up the arse.” Harry is shocked at his own use of words, but this woman is starting to irritate him, and he's not sure if he can handle more of her. Louis snorts, burying his nose in Harry's shoulder to stifle it.

“Sounds as if you might be a little gay yourself,” she cheeks nonchalantly winking at Harry.

“Sounds as if you might be quite ignorant yourself,” Harry replies tersely, his eyes piercing. “Your gender and your sexuality does _not_ define you by any means, nor is it an _insult_ upon a person. And the fact that people like you are absolutely devoted on forcing people out of the closet says something not only about the company you work for, but your morals as a person.”

Harry turns away quickly, and Louis mutters “fucking pricks”, and Harry's sure that the microphone picked up on it, but he doesn't care at all. He hates how ignorant people are, how all they focus on is not actually supporting the LGBT community and helping them feel accepted, but rather forcing them out of the closet and finding ways to jab at people because of their sexualities. He's so angry, and he cannot wait to be inside a dark room, thrumming with music and alcohol.  

He tries to ignore the way this has become his escape lately.

Louis catches up with him, Niall and Liam trailing behind them as they're escorted in to the venue. It's large and sleek, resembling an office building on the outside, the only clue to its true purpose being the white neon sign that flashes _Angels and Devils._

“I want no reporters or any photographers in here tonight. You only let in people if they're on the guest list. I don't care if paps have been invited inside, no one but the people on the list get in.”

The burly security man barks a “yes, Sir” in response, nodding his head and already beginning the task of sending other guards inside to escort whatever media personnel has already entered.

The interior of the club is modern and elegant, with black and white couches strewn about, surrounding alabaster tables. The bar is housing several bottles of alcohol, all colour coordinated and stretching on endlessly. The club is massive, stretching as far as Harry can see, with a sleek, charcoal staircase winding up towards a second floor.

There's a stage set up with a dance floor, and Harry knows that's where he's going to be performing. He goes up to the jet-black bar with neon white twining through the entire design, ordering a vodka tonic, while Niall orders an ungodly concoction that sounds like the name of a nuclear weapon, and Louis tentatively gets a beer with Liam.

Louis has been weary of drinking ever since the episode at the party, staying away from heavy alcohol around Harry, and he suspects it's so that he doesn't hurt Harry any more than he did that night, and it kind of warms his heart more than alcohol ever can.

He tries to push his anger away as the club completely fills up, the music a soft thrum of constant bass in the background, not loud enough for people to have to scream to each other, but more like background noise. Several people have come to congratulate Harry, and he smiles and thanks them and has as much amicable conversation he can manage before he freezes up and Louis comes to his rescue.

Harry's slack-jawed moment comes when Lorde and Taylor Swift approach him. He sees her blonde head and stark crimson lipstick weaving through the crowd, and his heart immediately kicks up and he begins sweating. He's always found her attractive, ever since he was young, and to finally meet the woman that he secretly listened to for hours on end is a little overwhelming for him. Lorde follows her, with her black lipstick and mounds of curly jet-black hair. Louis also seems as stunned as him when they stop in front of them. Niall and Liam have gone off in search of Wiz Khalifa.

“Hi Harry, I'm Taylor,” she beams, her pearl-white teeth shining behind her blood red lips. “I don't believe we've met, but I adore your songs.”

“I love yours!” Harry rushes out, before his cheeks turn the colour of her lipstick and he coughs. “I mean, thank you. It's a real honour to hear that from you.”

“I technically introduced her to you,” Lorde says nonchalantly, picking at her nails and secretly eyeing both Louis and Harry. “You've got some good stuff.”

“T-thank you,” Harry squeaks out, and Taylor turns her attention to the beautiful, pixie-haired boy beside him.

“You're Louis right? It's nice to meet you,” she smiles at him too, and Louis looks like a deer caught headlights, and he's spluttering for an answer, but all that comes out is: “And you!”

The girls giggle and Harry eventually manages to hold a conversation with the two of them without exposing his embarrassing teenage renditions of _Love Story_ , or the way he used to dance around the house to _Royals_ with his mother's pearls around his neck.

Louis stays by his side, as star-struck as Harry, but the two manage to at least become aquatinted with them, until Harry is called to the stage.

Louis pulls him close and whispers in his ear, “break a leg, love. You're gonna smash it.”

Harry leaves with a warm feeling sloshing about in his belly, and a wide grin splintering in his face. The alcohol he has thus far consumed has dulled his anxiety somewhat, and he tries to only focus on the good feelings right now. He gets up on stage, a large spotlight trained on him, like every single pair of eyes in the room. The audience is dark, and Harry can barely make out one person from another, but he looks down and spots Louis’ arctic eyes burning in to his.

“I just want to thank you all for coming tonight, it's a huge honour to be here with all of you, and to share my music for the first time live like this. Obviously the more talented singers will take to the stage later on this evening, so that's pretty cool, like The Neighbourhood and James Bay. So um, yeah. Apparently I'm doing all six songs off my EP, so at least try to enjoy it, cause I'll be up here for a while.”

The audience laughs and Harry feels quite satisfied with his little joke, and he grabs the mic and introduces _Sad Song,_ before singing his way through it perfectly, his eyes never leaving Louis’. He can barely make out his features, but Harry swears he can see Louis’ mouth turn up in a shy smile and his eyes shine brighter than the rest in the room.

He sings _Riptide_ , his memory flooded with the cold winter morning in the song room, a hazy-eyed Louis with fluffy hair and morning breath, refusing to kiss him until the time is right. He smiles to himself throughout the entire song, his guitar accompanying him as he strums the strings carefully, picking and tugging as if it were a flower he's trying to carefully prune.

The audience claps along and cheers for him, and Harry feels alive as his voice softly serenades Louis, even though they're the only two that know it. Harry isn't sure if Louis knows just how much he cares about him, so he pours himself in to the song, hoping that Louis can _feel_ just how much Harry cares about him.

“This next song is called _Wait For Me_ , and it's kind of slow and like, seriously indie and stuff, and it basically is just about knowing someone and waiting for the right time to be together.”

It is really slow, and people take out their phones and some their lighters, and sway along to Harry's mellow voice as it hushes in to the microphone. Harry can't believe he's already half way through his performance, and he finds himself wishing that he wants more time here, on stage, in front of these people. These people right here are hearing his messages, hearing what he has to say and they all seem to actually _like_ it.

He finishes the song, and moves on to one of his rather deeper ones, dealing with issues that people in this world tend to ignore.

 _Camisado_ is a song Harry wrote about suicide and relapse, something that he's wanted the public to take notice of. He hates the way people overlook this stuff, and only care once a person has succeeded in suicide. Harry's first-hand experience with this just makes him even angrier at the world.

“This song is dedicated to my sister,” is all Harry says, fighting back the tears in his eyes, because he needs to be strong for this song. He's been planning this song for Rachel for a long, long time.

It's an upbeat song, and Harry's voice is changing octaves left, right and centre, his tone loud and upbeat. His voice is singing the words with passion, and he's enjoying himself immensely, despite the hectic message of the song.

He sings another song called _Fall For You,_ his eyes trained on Louis’ the entire time. This isn't Louis’ song though. He's saved that one for last.

The audience is cheering and clapping and screaming for him, and he feels extremely chuffed because he's made a room of celebrities whoop for him, and he's written songs that make people happy and that people like. He doesn't think he'll ever get enough of this feeling.

“I have one more song to sing tonight, and it's really the best for last. Someone very special to me inspired this song, someone that's constantly there for me and has been my rock when things have gotten hectic. This person has helped me believe that there are some good people out there, gorgeous people with big hearts and stunning _Baby Blue Eyes_.”

The audience yells and claps, and it's vibrating in Harry's ears, and he's suddenly nervous, because this song has to be perfect. He's been waiting so long, hiding this from Louis, locking his songbook away because Louis loves to peek, hiding the stacks of sheet music. He wants Louis to know that this song was specifically written about him.

 

_My eyes are no good_ _– blind without her,_

_The way she moves, I never doubt her._

_When she talks, she somehow creeps into my dreams._

_She's a doll, a catch, a winner_

_I'm in love and no beginner;_

_Could ever grasp or understand just what she means._

_Baby, baby blue eyes,_

_Stay with me by my side;_

_'Til the mornin', through the night._

_Well baby,_

_Stand here, holdin' my sides,_

_Close your baby blue eyes;_

_Every moment feels right._

_And I may feel like a fool,_

_But I'm the only one, dancin' with you._

Harry scans the crowd for Louis, but he's moved from his previous position, and he's searching frantically for him. His eyes finally land on him right in the back, sitting on a barstool, his eyes trained forward. Harry locks his eyes and jade smolders with azure, and Harry sings to Louis. All the applause and cheers are drowned out as Harry speaks to Louis through his music, his fingers shaking as he grasps the microphone stand and his heart thumping.

 

_I drive her home when she can't stand,_

_I like to think I'm a better man_

_For not lettin' her do what she's been known to do._

_She wears heels and she always falls,_

_So I let her think she's a know-it-all._

_But whatever she does wrong, it seems so right._

_My eyes don't believe her,_

_But my heart, swears by her._

 

Harry repeats the chorus a few more times, and he can see Louis clearly now, who's smiling wide and biting his bottom lip, looking down every time Harry's gaze becomes too intense. Harry thinks he sees Louis wipe away a tear, and he sincerely hopes it's a happy one.

He ends the song, and the reaction is deafening. He's never received quite a reaction before, and he starts shedding tears involuntarily.

“You guys are honestly amazing! I'm just really emotional right now, ’cause I've been wanting to do this my entire life, and now I'm finally here, and it means so much that you guys like my music. Thank you so much! Please enjoy The Neighbourhood and James Bay who will be on later tonight!”

Harry hops off of the stage and scrambles through the crowd of people who are all congratulating him and praising him. Harry's high off of the adrenaline rush and his eyes dart around the room, trying to find his mates. He spots Niall and Liam, who have successfully found Wiz Khalifa, and are chatting away with him.

“Harry! Mate, that was incredible!” Liam gushes, giving Harry a sturdy hug. “So so proud of you.”

“Fuckin’ amazing that was!” Niall grins, tackling Harry as well and hugging him tightly. There's something about Horan hugs that Harry adores.

“Well done, Harry. That's some truly good music,” Wiz congratulates him, and Harry looks at him with wide eyes and thanks him profusely.

He doesn't think he'll get used to praise from celebrities, but it just keeps coming as he searches for Louis, who is nowhere to be found.  

“Thanks guys, and thank you Wiz for coming!” Harry smiles half-heartedly at him, his eyes flickering for a certain pair of baby blue eyes.

“It's a pleasure, man. You're really talented,” he comments, and Harry almost tears up because it's _Wiz Khalifa_ telling him this.

“Wow, I - thanks. Have you seen Louis?” Harry turns to the younger boys, their eyes mimicking Harry's with cluelessness.

“Sorry man. Was sitting at the bar last time I saw him. Not sure where he's sodded off to,” Liam says, turning his full attention back to the rapper in front of them.

Harry bids his goodbyes and moves through the sea of people, but it's hard to even start looking for Louis, because everyone is stopping to congratulate him on things and wanting to have chats, but he finds himself cutting them short in search of the pixie-haired boy. He feels rude, because these people are complimenting him and he's brushing them off with a quick “thank you” and a nod of the head.

Harry finds Louis outside sometime later, his back leaning against the brick wall of the alley, his hair slightly damp from the condensation that's collected on the hard, red material. Louis immediately spots Harry as he rounds the corner, as if he can sense Harry's energy wherever he goes, and before Harry can ask why he's outside in the biting cold, collecting snowflakes in his fluffy hair, Louis breaks out in to a massive grin and pulls Harry in by his lapels. Louis steps up on to his toes and wraps his arms around Harry, pulling him as close as their bodies allow. Harry pulls him in by his waist, squeezing tightly, a million questions on his mind.

Harry decides that one of the best feelings in the world is when you hug the one person that is most special to you, and they hug you tighter.

“You're amazing,” Louis whispers between butterfly kisses upon Harry's face. “So talented, so beautiful...”

Harry's basking in Louis’ compliments, and he finds himself thinking that this is much better than any A-list celebrity showering him with kind words. Harry grips on to Louis as he throws his head back while the shorter boy gets on his toes to kiss the pale, taught skin of Harry's neck, the blue veins spiraling up the skin like the dark branches in the pallid, grey sky. Harry mind faintly goes back to the night that Louis kissed that model, how they ended up behind a building very much like they are now, but with the exception of Louis kissing Harry, and not some mindless model. Things have changed so fast, and Louis has been the only constant in his life. Harry feels so strongly for the boy below him, the boy set on making him feel better, the boy who Harry has slowly learned to read. The boy who will never delve in to his secrets, and is a really shit comforter, but Harry adores him nonetheless. Harry has never felt this way before, this incessant feeling of gold thrumming through his veins. Only Louis makes him feel this way.

“Did you like the last song?” Harry's breath hitches as Louis dusts his plump lips over Harry's long, slender ones.

“Was it about me?” Louis asks in the small voice, halting his onslaught of kisses to make tentative eye contact with Harry.

“Of course,” Harry breathes, his chest rising and falling rapidly, his ice-cold fingers on Louis’ cheeks. “You are the only person with such beautiful blue eyes.”

Louis smiles shyly, staring down at their feet, his chest convulsing with silent giggles. Harry lifts his face up, their eyes meeting as Harry grins at Louis.

“ _Baby, baby blue eyes, stay with me by my side,_ _’till the morning, through the night_ ,” Harry sings softly, and connects his lips to Louis’ through their maniacal smiles.

“What time can we get out of here?” Louis whispers against Harry's lips, his hands traveling down Harry's chest to pinch at his thighs.

“Not really sure, it's still kind of early, why?”

“You really are clueless, aren't you?” Louis giggles, his fingers dusting over Harry's crotch. “You are so amazing, Harry. You deserve every good feeling in this world. And tonight, I want my baby to feel every one that I can give him.”

Harry's cock twitches in interest, constrained beneath the tight fabric of his pants, his stomach warming up with a flash of pleasure. Harry gulps as Louis softly drags his fingertips over the area, back and forth, as he breathes against Harry's neck.

“ _Lou_ ,” the name is desperate, whiny, and Harry groans as Louis squeezes his length gently.

There is a definite imprint on his skinny jeans now, the outline of his dick visible and getting bigger with every dust of Louis’ digits.

“Do you want me, Harry? Want my mouth around you while you make filthy noises for me?”

Harry gasps delightfully as Louis mutters dirty things in to his sweaty skin. His lips nip and tug at the feverish skin, and Harry forgets where they are completely. As far as he's concerned, they're not pressed against a wet brick wall, but rather in a vast void that belongs to the two of them.

Harry throws his head back, succumbing to his pleasure as Louis sucks a maroon love bite that resembles the colour of the expensive Merlot Harry has in his liquor cabinet. He pulls off with a pop, making a sound of approval that hums low in his throat. Harry is grinding against Louis’ thigh, searching for mediocre friction, anything to ease his uncomfortable want.

“No, no,” Louis scolds Harry, pulling away from him with a cheeky smirk that can only mean something bad. “It's still your release party, after all. You should be meeting people and expanding your social circle. Come on.”

And Louis leaves him in the cold.

With a raging hard-on.

And Harry is very angry, and incredibly turned on.

He closes his eyes and rests his head on the wall supporting him, his knees shaking and his crotch throbbing in a way that makes Harry want to cry. He tries to imagine his grandmother on the toilet again, naked and struggling with a nasty case of constipation.

It sort've works.

Eventually, the cold becomes too much for him, which helps his current situation, and he scrambles back inside, seeking the warmth that comes from the sea of people all sharing heat. Harry's managed to get himself composed, his boner no longer appearing in his pants, although it still twitches now and then when he by accident brushes past people or the faintest touch falls upon it. He's cursing Louis, and as he weaves his way through he crowd, he finally spots the tawny brunette, a cool drink in his hand, chatting away. He walks towards Louis, grabbing his plump arse in the darkness, before interjecting himself in to the conversation.

“You must be Harry!” the woman Louis is talking to smiles, her thick eyebrows rising in exclamation. “I'm Cara Delevigne, it's so great to meet you.”

She sticks her tongue out at him and Harry hugs her gently, and she smells strongly of a perfume Harry recognizes, and upon telling her this, she tells him that it's _Dolce & Gabana_. Harry tries to ignore the fact that Louis is talking to another model, and tries to remember how much things have changed.

“One of my favourites,” Harry replies earnestly, and finds himself easily conversing with her and Louis.

While they're talking, Harry and Louis have suddenly created a game of “ _who can touch the other person in the most inappropriate way to get them to squirm without anyone noticing_ ”, and while Harry knows it's quite dangerous, he finds himself feeling safe amongst people like him. Celebrities who are in actual fact just normal people. He feels like he's protected by all these people in here, because they know exactly what it's like to have the attention constantly on you, the public's eye constantly scrutinizing you, and Harry finds that he can actually feel relaxed and touch Louis without anyone so much as batting an eyelid.

Louis’ hand travels down Harry's back, ghosting over his arse, and coming to squeeze the top of his thigh. His hand remains there, and everyone else is oblivious, because the lights have come down completely and James Bay is taking the stage.

He introduces himself and everyone yelps, and begins the intro to Harry's favourite song, _Hold Back The River._ Cara has disappeared in search of Taylor, apparently, and Louis takes this opportunity to bite Harry's earlobe and whisper in his ear.

“You may have been able to get rid of that hard-on, Styles, but I plan on making it quite evident throughout the entire night.”

“Jokes on you. My grandmother naked and constipated wins any day.”

“Mmm. I'd like to see you naked and sprawled out in front of me.”

Harry gulps.

James starts singing up on the stage, and Harry takes this as an opportunity to turn towards the music and forget about Louis’ husky and lust-filled voice. Louis just stands next to him as they both lean against the bar, his fingers resting in the back pocket of Harry's skinnies. He keeps squeezing and tracing nonsensical patterns in to the fabric, and the tingling feeling rubs off on Harry's arse, and he's not sure he's going to live through the night if this much sexual tension is going to be involved.

Harry sings along, and he can feel Louis watching him, the way his lips around every word his quietly mouths along to, the way his tongue darts out to wet his lips every now and then, and Harry decides that maybe he can have some fun with this game as well.

He jerks his arse up, his spine curving, faking a stretch, and watches as Louis’ pupils blow up, and his hand grips Harry's arse tighter. Harry turns to the barman to order another drink for Louis and himself, and gently brushes against Louis’ nipples with his fingertips. Louis sucks in a breath, and Harry can see the faint buds swelling up against the dark fabric of his shirt. Harry grabs his drink and hands one to Louis, who looks skeptical but Harry gives him a nod and tells him that it's alright. Louis still drinks it slowly as they sing along to a few other songs from the long-haired singer strumming on stage.

Niall and Liam join them when The Neighbourhood comes on, and Louis goes mental during Sweater Weather, looking rather like a crackhead in a deep house club. His body is swiveling and his head rising and dropping, and Harry can't help but watch his arse sway to the beat. He's fighting the constant need to pull Louis to him and feel the crevice of his arse against his rather upset dick. The night is almost over, though, and Harry cannot wait to take Louis home.

The four of them get rather tipsy, but all together, so it's rather fun and loud. There's a driver that's picked up Harry's car from the studio and taken it home, so he doesn't end to worry about it. There's a van fetching them all and it's currently waiting outside. Harry gathers up the lads and slaps them each on the cheek to make sure they're sober enough to react to shock and pain. Once he's satisfied with their rose-tinged cheeks, a security guard ushers them out through the sleek, black double doors. They're all tripping about on the cracked pavement and leaning on each other, the cold air sinking in to their bones as they wait outside. The paps are still there, and so are some screaming fans, but Harry doesn't care. He's happy, he's free, and he's currently still very aroused.  

He sees a fan crying and waving at him, so he quickly runs over and gives her a drunken kiss on the cheek and a happy grin. She grabs at him, but Harry is quickly ushered away. The security is scolding him, but he isn't listening.

The all bumble about and scramble in to the van, Liam in the front and Niall in the back with Louis and Harry. As soon as the doors close though, the shorter boy is astride the curly-haired boy with dazzling eyes, their lips immediately finding each other's.

Louis’ fingers card through Harry's hair, tugging just the way Harry likes it at the nape of his neck. Harry's groans are muffled by Louis’ mouth, their lips wet and slotting together easily. Harry's hands come to cup Louis’ arse, dragging him forward across his crotch and urging him to make his hips move.

Harry can see Niall out of the corner of his eye, laughing his arse off and making kissy faces at Liam. Louis pulls away and Harry latches his teeth to Louis’ neck in turn. He can see Liam's face over Louis’ shoulder, flushed crimson in the dark night, and Niall's face resembles him, but it's because he can't stop laughing and he's probably not getting enough oxygen.

The driver has the audacity to turn the radio on - bless him - and even though the song that suddenly blurts through the radio is none other than _Your Sex Is On Fire_ , (Niall actually fucking cackles at this) Louis takes the distraction to vocalize his thoughts in to Harry's ear.

“I'd do anything to blow you right here. I would love to watch you come apart while trying to be silent so that no one hears you,” Louis breathes as his hips buck sharply, moving back and forth and sending Harry's body in to a frenzy. “Only want me to hear your moans. Only want me to make you feel that way.”

“Yeah, Lou,” Harry whines, his eyes pinching in pleasure and frustration.

“You like that?” Louis questions quietly, licking a stripe up Harry's Adam's apple, and Harry actually shudders.

“Oh god, yeah Lou. Kiss me, please,” Harry begs, and finds Louis’ bruised, plump lips in the dark.

Their lips mould together in a sloppy kiss as Louis silently grinds down on Harry. Shots of pleasure are shooting through his body - down to the tips of his toes and to his prickling scalp. Louis’ tongue brushes along Harry's, darting in and put and teasing Harry's mouth.

The driver stops right outside Harry's building, and he pulls away from Louis just long enough to grab his keys and throw the driver a hundred quid. He definitely deserves it after Louis and Harry's show in the backseat. Niall yells at them to “use protection!” And Liam is still gawking too much to even get more than a “goodbye” out.

Harry opens his gate, his eyes flickering towards his car in the driveway in mint condition, and visibly relaxes. Louis is on his tail the entire time, bouncing up and down and whining because it's cold and Harry can't get the keys in the damn keyhole.

After endless failed attempts, the door finally cracks open and Louis is pressing him against the door, slamming it shut and working at Harry's buckle, his lips biting Harry's.

“Upstairs,” Harry breathes, but somehow, Harry ends up on the kitchen table instead.

Louis is right on top of him, kissing every inch of Harry's boiling skin, licking stripes everywhere that leave a cool burn when the air sweeps over it. He pulls Harry's shirt clean off his body, the buttons clicking as they hit the tiles, and Harry gawks in shared lust as well as outrage.

“That was...that was _Saint Laurent_ , Louis,” Harry splutters, but Louis silences him with a bite beneath his belly button.

“Don't care,” he mumbles. “I'll buy you a new one.”

“Louis, that was two thousand dollars,” Harry whispers, the remnants of his silky shirt strewn about the kitchen.

Louis pauses before mouthing over Harry's dick that's begging to break free from his jeans. “How about blowjobs for a month?”

Harry ponders. “I'll take it.”

Louis unbuttons Harry's jeans with much more care than his shirt, and although Harry found the action seriously hot and endearing, he wishes he were wearing a cheaper shirt. Louis manages to get Harry's pants off quite quickly, having practiced stripping Harry frequently. Louis traces his fingers up Harry's warm thighs; goosebumps rising like a trail behind Louis’ touch. He finally reaches Harry's dick, and Harry moans loudly in relief when Louis pulls his pants off too.

Harry's cock is red and leaking against his stomach, the sensitive, purple vein throbbing on the underside. Louis collects some of the precome from Harry's tip, looking straight in to Harry's eyes as he licks his fingers.

“ _God Lou_ ,” Harry breathes at the obscene gesture, and his dick twitches.

Louis pulls off his own shirt, sliding down across Harry's lanky, naked body, his chest brushing against Harry's member as he comes in for a kiss. “I'm gonna try something different, okay?”

“Okay,” Harry murmurs as Louis presses a loving kiss to the corner of his mouth, and then his temple.

Louis stands up, on the freaking kitchen table no less, unbuttoning his pants and doing a sort've strip tease. All Harry can do is watch with wide eyes as Louis undresses himself, his golden body stretching and his muscles tightening as he pulls off every item of clothing until he's stark naked above Harry, his own dick hard.

Harry loves the way Louis looks when he's naked.

His hair is messy, still taken to one side with strands falling near his beautiful lapis eyes. His lips are slightly parted, his beard light but ever-present, and he looks nothing short of a model, with his curvy thighs and rounded arse.

“Don't look at me like that,” Louis whines, covering his face.

Harry's a little confused, because Louis has gone from dominant to vulnerable in a matter of seconds, and Harry sits up and tugs Louis down to sit opposite him.

Under normal circumstances, this would be quite an awkward situation. Two boys, stark naked, on top of a kitchen table, facing each other with bits of fucking _Saint Laurent_ material strewn haphazardly across the floor. Harry still hasn't quite gotten over that one yet.

“What do you mean?” Harry asks tentatively, running the back of his index finger down Louis’ cheek.

“Like I'm something special.”

There's a deathly silence in the room, Harry's sure even his heart has stopped. His jaw is slack, his lips parted, and he can't even find the energy to breathe over the pain that's currently enveloping him. Louis’ eyes are downcast, his hair falling in to his face, and Harry doesn't know what he's supposed to do.

“Louis _fucking_ Tomlinson,” Harry growls, and Louis’ head snaps up at the aggressive tone in his voice. “How the hell can you say that? How can you sit right in front of me and say that? Like, no. You are one of the best fucking people I have ever met, and you make me so happy, and you are freaking _everything_ in my eyes. When will you see that? Seriously, Lou! When will you see that the only reason I can do half the things I've done in the past few months is because you were right there next to me? When will you see that you are my rock, and that I'm a jittery mess with out you? When will you see that you're the most important, _special_ , beautiful person in my entire life right now? When will you see that _I can't live without you, Louis?_ ”

Louis’ eyes are glassy, and Harry doesn't know whether it's from sadness or the alcohol. Harry grabs Louis' face and kisses him harshly, pouring his heart and soul and everything in to it so that Louis can fucking feel it, _feel_ how much Harry cares. He kisses Louis desperately, his hands gripping every part of his body, his mouth serenading Louis’ with a gentle touch. There's a tear dripping from Louis’ eye now, and it splashes against Harry's cheek, and Harry breaks away to look in to Louis’ stark, ice-blue eyes.

“I just, I feel like I'm such a shit person in this relationship,” Louis squeaks quietly, his chest jerking with his sharp intakes of breath. “I feel like I'm always caught up in all of these emotional problems of mine, and despite you thinking that you have no way with words, you always say these beautiful things that make me feel better in a heartbeat. You're too good for this world, Harry. Honestly. And I'm way too shit for you. I can barely say anything to reassure you, I can barely even talk about emotional things in fear that it'll set me off as well. I feel like the only way I can make it up to you is through sex; so you can feel how good you make me feel with your words. And that's terrible. I don't want to ruin this, Harry. I'm so scared because I've found myself in so deep and I don't know what to do if this all goes south. I'm so scared, Haz.”

Harry has tears in his own eyes, because Louis may have not realized it, but he's opened up more in these few breaths than he has in the entire time Harry has known him, and Louis’ words his Harry like an oncoming train. Harry wipes away a stray tear that has fallen, and laughs.

“Look at you, making me cry,” Harry giggles, “While we're here naked on my kitchen table.”

Louis laughs loudly through his sniffles, and Harry pulls him in and lays them across the entire table, holding Louis’ body close to his. He's most definitely gone soft, because seeing Louis so sad is traumatizing, and he just wants Louis to feel how much Harry likes him through his tight grip on his body.

Louis looks up from where he's cuddled in to Harry's chest, his eyes red-rimmed and his shoulders shaking softly.

“Please don't ever think you're not good enough for me,” Harry whispers in to Louis’ hair. “Please don't ever say that. I'm in just as deep as you are. And yeah, I'm just as scared as you are. We just have to work on ourselves just as much as we have to work on this relationship.”

“I really like you, Hazza Styles,” Louis whines, turning to kiss his wet lips. “A lot.”

“You've made me go soft with all your heartfelt words,” Harry giggles, and Louis’ eyebrows raise and he whispers, “Let me help you with that.”

And so they don't end up doing whatever “different” thing Louis had planned, and instead end up just casually sucking each other off in Harry's bedsheets, because Louis wanted something warm and fuzzy to ease his pain, and Harry is more than happy to oblige. Instead of the dirty whispers beneath the covers, their blowjobs are filled with praise and compliments towards each other, soft and sweet and relaxing. Harry has never given Louis one before, but he seems to do okay, because Louis comes undone within minutes as Harry goes down obediently, careful to follow Louis’ instructions on whether he needs to hollow his cheeks out more or twist his hand a certain way. They're sprawled in the bedsheets, Louis still panting from his orgasm, and Harry cleans them up with wet wipes that he's gotten for his beside table. Spontaneous sex with Louis has resulted in Harry stocking up on wet wipes and placing them all around the house.

Oh, the things he does for Louis.


	17. Comfort From Unlikely Souls

Harry is splurging down a plate piled high with an assortment of toast, scrambled eggs, crispy bacon and pork sausages when Louis bursts through the door, a smile on his face as wide as Harry's grandmother's pantyhose. He runs through the house, dropping the bag of groceries he'd so kindly offered to purchase, and springs right in to Harry's lap, straddling him as he peppers kisses to every inch of his face while Harry swallows and tries to avoid choking.

“What's gotten in to you?” Harry half laughs, half squeals as he stands up, bringing Louis up with him as his ankles lock behind Harry's back.

Harry twirls the two around, his body thrumming with a golden feeling of bliss, while Louis giggles with him, and the two end up on the carpet, Harry's legs crossed and Louis with his legs still wound tightly around Harry's warm, chiseled torso.

“Guess what?” Louis whispers, his teeth shining in the pale morning sun.

“What?” Harry grins back, licking a stripe across Louis’ bottom lip.    

Louis leans forward, as if he's about to tell Harry the biggest secret he's ever shared with anyone, and Harry whines like an impatient puppy when Louis giggles and bites his earlobe.

“Your EP has hit number one in the UK,” Louis announces happily, his hands up in the air, and Harry stills.

“A-already?” Harry chokes.

“Already,” Louis confirms.

Harry's whole world stills for a moment as he takes in the news. _It's only been a day._ He can no longer hear the loud chortle of people walking past his house, can no longer hear the whiz of cars as they zoom past, can no longer hear the whining wind that is constantly rattling his windows. His body is overtaken with so many emotions - pride, joy, relief - that he doesn't quite know what to do with himself. 

“Oh my god,” Harry's eyes grow wide and his face cracks in an ear-splitting grin.

All he can think is that: _he's done it_.

He's done something for himself that's actually worked out. He's poured his heart and soul in to something that he loved, and in turn, he was praised and rewarded for it. No one understands how much Harry Styles needs praise. Except maybe Louis.

Nothing can be more perfect right now. He's got a beautiful boyfriend by his side, or rather, in his lap, who's there for him in _almost_ any instance. He's basically famous and he has friends that care about him. He's swamped with joyous emotions that sweep through his body, and he can't stop himself as hot tears spring to his eyes.

“No no, why are you crying? Na uh, Louis doesn't do well with tears, you know that baby.” Louis’ eyebrows are creased in worry, and Harry hates how he looks like he doesn't know what to do.

This is generally how things go when everything becomes too much for Harry. Harry will try to escape from the blue-eyed boy, hide away somewhere until he becomes suspicious and goes searching. He'll find Harry in a ball of tears and awkwardly pull him to his chest. He never says anything, because he has no idea what to say, just cards his small, nimble fingers through the thick strands of Harry's curls until he's calm or has fallen asleep. Harry wishes sometimes that he could relay all his baggage to Louis, tell him why he's crying and what makes him cry, tell him about his mother and his father and Gemma and even _Rachel_ , but he doesn't think he'll be able to face Louis’ blank stare and a weak “I'm sorry.”

He remembers something his mother once said to him, and it went along the lines of “your other half needs to be just as invested in your life, your problems, and your success as you are.” Louis is supposed to be his rock, and he doesn't know what kind of rock he is if Harry is constantly running from him when his emotions act up.

He brushes away the thought brusquely, because there's no time for questioning Louis and his relationship with said pixie-haired boy.

“No Louis, I'm really happy,” Harry laughs through his tears, brushing them away before the icy draft can freeze them on his face. “Why do you always leave the windows open?”

“Because people need fresh air. Otherwise their brain cells die,” Louis states matter-of-factly, and Harry raises a wet eyebrow and him before throwing Louis off of him and going to close the window.

The thin, red curtains are blowing high, almost touching the ceiling, and as Harry comes to the open window, wide and showcasing the outside world, he sees a girl on a bench opposite him. She's crying, her body quaking and her hands hastily brushing away tears. There's a boy next to her, presumably her boyfriend, and he has an arm around her and is pulling her to him. He lifts her face up, his own face hard and determined, and speaks to her. Harry obviously can't hear what he's saying, but his chest tightens and his heart sinks when she presses a kiss to his lips and he hugs her so tight that it looks like he'll never let go.

Harry wishes he had that kind of comfort around.

For the second time in less than ten minutes, Harry ignores the thought and goes back to Louis, who is still sprawled on the floor in the position Harry left him in, his white shirt blending in with the fluffy white carpet beneath him. Harry lies down next to him, snatching his phone as Louis protests and making futile grabby hands at Harry.

The phone is open on a photo, and it's of Louis and Harry in a car, and Louis is smiling towards whatever camera took the photo, his hair light and scruffy and matching his dark beard, his beautiful eyes glimmering bright in the pale light. He looks so cuddly that Harry wants to stare at the picture forever.

It seems like the Harry in the photo had decided the same thing, because he's watching Louis, a grin so wide on his face that his all of his teeth stick out, as well as his tongue between them. His dimples are on full display, his light jade eyes holding nothing but fond for the older boy next to him. Harry adores the photo.

“Where did you get this from?” Harry questions, his tears almost gone.

“It's that photo that those girls wanted to take the other day when we were on our way to get ready,” Louis replies, a cheeky grin on his face. “It's also that photo that the boys and I were laughing about. I knew you liked me, I didn't know you were completely infatuated.”

Strangely enough, Harry isn't embarrassed at all. He wishes Louis knew just how much Harry actually cared for him. How much Harry might just love him.

And Harry welcomes the stutter in his chest at the word. He embraces it and let's the word fill him up and spread itself across his body. Harry Styles might just be in love with Louis Tomlinson.

“It caused quite a stir on Twitter, you know,” Louis is apparently still talking, and Harry shakes himself out of his revelation and listens attentively with glittering eyes.

“Oh really? Like what?” Harry laughs, and Louis tells him to check for himself.

When Harry gets on to his Twitter, he ignores the constant stream of thousands of tweets that come his way daily, and moves through his timeline. He follows quite a few fans, and as he scrolls through, he sees some of them have changed their usernames to things like _LarryStylinson_ and _LarryIsReal_ , and sure enough, the photo on Louis’ phones is making the rounds on Twitter, and several people are commenting on it.

_There's no way they're not together. Look at the fondness in Harry's eyes!_

_They're perfect for each other, like, seriously perfect._

“We are rather perfect, aren't we?” Harry wiggles his eyebrows at Louis, before spying the abandoned grocery bags and tuts at Louis, before standing up to retrieve them. Louis runs his fingers and palm over Harry's arse, and Harry turns around with rose cheeks and his lip caught between his teeth.

“Enjoying yourself?” Harry asks sneakily, and Louis looks up at him before sinking his nails in to the flesh, their eyes refusing to leave each other's.

“Very much so.”

Harry gasps and runs away from Louis, who gets up and actually starts fucking chasing him, and Harry's gangly limbs are all over the place, clumsily running and trying to find somewhere to run to while his mouth releases squeals.

Louis, with his thick, muscular thighs of a football player runs after him, and catches up very quickly. He pins Harry down against the dining room table, and Harry giggles and escapes him, climbing up on to the table and beginning to run, but Louis’ hand catches his ankle and before Harry knows it, Louis is on top of him, his entire body enveloping him, their chests panting as they stare in to each other's eyes.

“Now kiss me you fool,” Louis mutters, and Harry grabs his fade and brings his lips down to meet Harry's.

The two boys kiss on the hard wood of the dining room table, their lips slipping and sliding because of how much they're smiling. Harry smiles even harder when their teeth knock together, because it's that perfect kind of kiss where nothing matters except the two of them. The eventually manage to get their lips to work again, and they move perfectly in between each other, obscene spit noises filling the otherwise silent room. Harry doesn't know exactly when, but it becomes heated very quickly. It can never remain chaste with Louis Tomlinson.

Harry sits himself up and pulls Louis in to his lap; similar to the position they were in earlier. Louis breaks the kiss as his sweet, wet lips travel down the pallid skin of Harry's neck, leaving light trails of spit that become cold in the frigid air. Louis bites and sucks as he moves along and Harry cries out in a soft moan when Louis sucks an angry, red mark in to the sensitive skin above his collarbone, whispering “mine.”

It's probably the most intimate thing that Louis has ever said to Harry, and Harry basks in the glory and feelings that it brings with. Their lips connect again and Louis bucks his hips right in to Harry's, their crotches aligning in a way that would bring Harry to his knees if he were standing up.

“Are we really going to get frisky on my dining room table?” Harry moans out between his harsh breaths, and Louis pulls away and looks at him.

“Get frisky?”

“What would you prefer?”

“Fuck.” Louis looks smug, because he probably expected Harry's cheeks to flame up, or his words to come out stuttering from embarrassment.

“Okay... Are we really going to fuck on my dining room table? Because if we are, you better make it amazing, Tomlinson. Every bit worth the clean-up.”

 

 

Louis is stunned.

His eyes are wide, his jaw slack. He's a third distraught, a third amused, and a third turned on. Harry laughs, his head thrown back and his glossy hair brushing his shoulders, mouth wide and emitting his beautiful giggle. Louis is filled with every ecstatic feeling he's ever known all at once.

Louis is hit with a startling revelation as he watches Harry’s eyes light up like the stars in the night sky, his body radiating a certain happiness and love that he never knew Harry to possess. He thinks about how much he's seen of Harry since he first met the awkward, shy boy in the booth of the coffee shop, and how much Harry’s impacted on Louis’ life. He wants Harry to know exactly how much he's influenced Louis’ happiness as of late; but Louis is terrible with words. He wants to make love to Harry.

He knows it won’t be soon, and heck, he’ll be a nervous wreck when it does eventually happen. He may have shared many sexual experiences with Nick, and as cringe-worthy as it is to remember them, (he never had sex with Nick, thank _god_ ) Louis has never had sex with a boy. He’s scared, partly at the thought of it – and partly at the thought of it with _Harry._

He would want to make it absolutely perfect, and he knows that extensive research is going to be needed in order to achieve said standard of perfection, but it’ll be worth it in the end, as long as Harry feels good and loved and everything that he deserves that Louis just cannot put in words.

“Louis? I’m afraid I have a situation that you certainly have not taken care of,” Harry whines, tugging at Louis’ collar and nudging his nose in to the crook of his neck.

Louis snaps out of his thoughts, making a mental note to start his research, before his body springs in to action. It’s like muscle memory with Harry now; he knows what spots make Harry writhe beneath him, knows just how much tug is needed in his curls to get him to make that noise in his throat that Louis loves so much.

For now though, Louis will settle for blowjobs on the dining room table.

Louis pushes Harry down with a gentle nudge, and Harry lies down obligingly. His eyes are blown wide with anticipation and lust, his tongue darting out to lick his full, pink lips that Louis loves to see wrapped around his cock.

Louis growls in his throat at the image, pulling Harry’s sweatpants down and tugging them off of his lanky, pale legs. He bundles the pair up and places it under the small of Harry’s back for comfort. The flat, rigid plain of the table isn’t very comfortable against Harry’s jutting spine, the vertebrae sticking out the thin of his back. Harry’s legs are rising with goosebumps, the hairs erect, much like his cock that’s leaning upwards towards his belly. Louis kisses up his legs, sucking small love bites in the sensitive skin of his thighs. Harry mewls in the back of his throat, his fingers tangling in Louis’ hair and tugging every time Louis makes him feel extremely sensitive.

“Louis,” Harry whines, and Louis’ eyes flicker up to meet his fiery jade ones. “Want your lips around me.”

The way Harry says it, desperately and almost fucking _begging_ for it, turns Louis on even more. 

“Yeah? Want my lips around your cock?” Louis teases, his mouth just dusting over the sensitive skin of his balls.

“Yes!” Harry moans, breathless. “K-keep talking to me like that, _please_.”

“You mean filthy? Does it turn you on, love? My dirty mouth?” Louis licks a stripe up Harry’s shaft, watching it twitch with excitement.

“L-love it when you talk to me like that. Makes me so…”

“Say it, Harry.”

“Dunno how to describe it,” Harry gasps as Louis’ tongue darts out to lap at Harry’s red, leaking head. “Feels _so good_ Lou. I need you. So ready, Lou.”

Louis loves how Harry falls apart at Louis’ touch, loves the way he loses his inhibitions and forgets completely about his anxieties and general awkwardness about everything. It fills Louis with a sense of complete bliss to know that Harry is so confortable around Louis like this. Louis wishes he could be the same around Harry.

Louis finally gives in to Harry’s pleads to stop teasing and envelopes Harry’s cock with his warm, moist mouth. Harry makes a loud, relieved noise as he leans back, his body flat against the table, his hips rising up to every lick and suck of Louis’ mouth.

Louis throws one of his legs over Harry’s, his own cock rubbing against the edge of Harry’s thigh as he moves. It’s not satisfying, but it gives him enough pleasure. He’s only focused on Harry today.

Louis swirls his tongue at Harry’s head when he moves up, and deep-throats Harry completely as he moves down, his eyes watering as his nose touches the skin of Harry’s bladder. Louis tries to suppress his gags when he hears how much Harry is enjoying it; low moans resonating throughout the entire house, deep and raspy and oh so lovely. He closes his eyes and keeps going, ignoring the pain in his jaw and the gags when Harry unexpectedly bucks his hips up from the pleasure. He’s releasing small _uh_ _’s_ in succession with every movement of Louis’ mouth against his warm, throbbing skin. Louis bucks his hips against Harry’s thigh to the sound of his erotic moans, unable to help himself. Harry sounds so good.

When the pain becomes too much for his jaw, he places a hand at the base of Harry’s cock, already slick with spit, and moves it in sync with his mouth. Harry is falling apart above him, yelling out profanities that make Louis’ belly flare with desire. Louis loves how loud Harry gets.

“Fuck Louis, yes, oh god, so good,” Harry groans, unable to form coherent sentences with the pleasure that’s currently clouding his brain. “Oh god, so good, love. You’re so fucking _good_ to me.”

“Will always be good to you,” Louis murmurs, pulling off for a second to give his jaw a break, before going back down on his flushed and awaiting cock.

Louis trails his other hand up Harry’s body, his eyes locking with the curly boy as he trails his fingertips across his nipple. Harry shivers and groans, intertwining his fingers with Louis’. 

Louis’ heart swells and he swears that the growing feeling in his stomach is going to become too hard to ignore.

And it’s all so beautiful to Louis; the way that Harry looks like a reincarnation of a Greek god, with his mounds of curls that splay around his flushed face, the way his lips are parted with the moans he cannot conceal, the way his pale, lanky body is covered in beads of sweat and goosebumps, the way Louis is able to make him feel things he’s never felt before.

He goes faster now, his hand and mouth moving at the speed of lighting as Harry becomes louder and more desperate. Louis' cock is twitching at the sounds Harry is making - sweet and whiny because he needs Louis. His deep voice has disappeared, leaving behind high-pitched moans that leave him mouth with every breath. Harry digs his fingertips in to Louis' hair, needing some sort of anchor. 

“Lou, uhh, oh baby _yeah_ ,” Harry sucks in a shaky breath, his body beginning to quiver with the promise of release.

Harry whines and cries out with few more strangled moans before one loud grunt, and then he's shooting ribbons down Louis’ throat, his deep voice vibrating against the walls. Louis is sure even the neighbours across the street can hear him, and that makes a flush of pleasure run through his body. Harry has always been loud.

He releases a string of _oh fuck_ _’s_ as he comes, and Louis tries his best to swallow every last drop, wiping away his tears while Harry’s eyes are closed before he can see. Harry has the most beautiful orgasm face, Louis decides, from the way his mouth opens in a delightful ‘O’ and his eyebrows scrunch to form a wrinkle on his forehead, his eyes squeezing shut tightly.

He releases Harry with a pop, wiping off the excess spit strands with his shirt. Harry’s chest is rising and falling rapidly, his breaths coming out in puffs. His skin is hot and clammy, but Louis climbs up to cuddle in to his side anyway. It would look rather odd to anyone walking in – two boys, one half-dressed with his crotch on full display, splayed across the dining room table. Louis hopes he locked the door after grocery shopping.

Harry has finally calmed down and turns to look at Louis with dreamy, half-lidded emerald eyes. He brings Louis in for a kiss, and Louis murmurs with a gravelly voice, “See how good you taste, baby.”

“Don’t be dirty – you’re going to make me hard again and I think that’s physically impossible right now,” Harry mutters against Louis’ mouth. “God, you’re so good to me.”

“I am, aren’t I?” Louis wiggles his eyebrows, kissing Harry’s orgasm-wrinkle on his forehead, as Louis has decided to call it.

“Want me to return the favour?” Harry asks tiredly, and Louis can tell that he wants nothing more than rest right now, but is so willing to make Louis feel good that he would forsake it. Louis’ heart beats with adoration for the younger boy.

To his surprise, Louis is sensitive when Harry’s long, nimble fingers brush across his crotch. He winces and looks down, finding himself soft and a wet patch that’s slowly seeping through his boxers and on to his grey sweatpants.

“You _came_ from giving me a blowjob?” Harry’s eyes shine with disbelief while he pulls on his boxers, and something that resembles pride, like _I can_ _’t believe I did that to someone._

Louis is quite embarrassed, because he can’t really remember coming, because he was so focused on making Harry feel good. He faintly remembers a shock echoing through his body, but he assumed it was from pleasure, and not from an orgasm. Louis couldn’t help himself; Harry is literally irresistible. He obviously got caught up in Harry’s heavenly moans, combined with the friction in his pants and against Harry’s thigh…

 

But Harry isn’t the type to gloat or tease. In fact, he's filled with complete and utter disbelief and an overwhelming feeling that he can’t quite place. He can’t believe that Louis actually came from just pleasuring Harry. Is that even possible?

Nonetheless, it makes Harry warm and fuzzy because _this_ is how much Louis is attracted to Harry. If anything, it showcased how much Harry affects Louis, and now he definitely knows that he isn’t the only one that’s severely affected by their significant other.

Harry surges forward and attaches his lips to Louis, a sweet kiss that’s meant to show Louis that Harry just _knows_ , that Louis doesn’t need to say anything. It’s kind of nice because Louis never really expresses his feelings, but in a round about way he's made it clear to Harry.

Harry has taken to whispering poems in to Louis’ ear after sex as they cuddle. The dining room table is awfully uncomfortable, but Harry doesn’t mind as Louis curls up at his side. Harry traces nonsensical patterns on to Louis’ cheek, still blushing and red.

“ _Sitting next to you is like taking a sip of eternity - the sun, the stars, the sky / never tasted so good._ _”_

Louis will hum and listen attentively, because Harry knows that he loves the deep, clearness of his voice, and although it bothers Harry, Louis has told him countless times just how much his voice affects the sparkling-eyed boy.

“ _I gather my restless thoughts / string words in to a meaningful sentence / then I see your eyes / and once again / I am breathless._ _”_

“You really have a thing for my eyes, don’t you?” Louis teases.

Harry’s eyes meet Louis’, and his mouth falls open as he tries to explain as well as he can. He can’t think of anything remotely good enough to justify his thoughts, so he explains himself in a poem.

“ _I craved sustenance in the form of adoration / and I received your stormy eyes / eyes that swirled with deep ocean blues and sea-foam greens / eyes that said so much / paired with a mouth that uttered so little / of what you truly felt / those eyes were my saviors / bringing me comfort in the darkest of nights / and now I truly know / that the boy with the baby blue eyes / has the power to kill me in the end._ _”_

Louis looks quite speechless, but his eyes are soft and watery, and his mouth is turned in to a faint smile in the corners.

“I would never do anything to hurt you, love. Ever.” Louis says fiercely, his voice laced with determination and promise.

“I know.” Harry replies quietly, and kisses Louis.

Louis kisses back fervently, and the two lie on the dining room table until Harry’s sure his balls are going to fall off from the cold and Louis’ come starts drying in his boxers. The two separate – Louis to the laundry room and Harry to the shower.

Harry stands under the burning onslaught that’s slowly bringing feeling back in to his lower body, and he can’t stop thinking about Louis. He's most definitely in love with him.

Harry doesn’t want to tell him this, though. He's not sure if Louis is ready for that kind of a confession, and would probably dart for the hills if he heard anything like it. He's so absorbed in his thoughts that he doesn’t hear the door opening or closing, doesn’t hear the soft thump of clothes falling against the floor, doesn’t hear the shower door opening, and only jumps when he feels cold hands on his scalding hips.

“Also needed a clean-up, love,” Louis giggles, kissing Harry’s wet shoulder.

The least Harry can do is give Louis a bit of a scalp massage and wash his body with care after not being able to return the sexual favour. Technically he did, but Harry isn’t counting it.

The two boys stand underneath the hot water, letting it shower down on them and conceal them in a world that is entirely their own. Here, behind closed doors, something else goes on entirely. Here, Harry belongs to Louis and no one can get in the way of them. Here, wrapped up in each other’s steamy and slippery bodies, sharing soapsuds between naked stomachs and kissing with wet lips, yeah, here is Harry’s safe place.

And he tells Louis as much. He cradles Louis close to his body, his lips finding their way to his ear as he scrapes his fingernails through his scalp, spreading sweet-smelling shampoo, he whispers sweet nothings.

“This right here, is my favourite place. You and me, away from the world, no paparazzi talking about us and no stupid parties or alcohol. Just us.”

And Harry kisses him. Harry kisses him so hard that his lips hurt and Louis moans loudly, partly from shock and partly from happiness, because its that kind of perfect kiss that leaves them breathless and wanting to stay in each other’s arms forever.

“Harry? The groceries are still on the floor, you know.”

 

~ 

 

It’s almost Christmas.

And Harry is absolutely elated.

It’s been snowing properly for the past few days, the driveways needing shovels and the balconies covered in white layers of snowflakes that glisten in the weak sun when it decides to make an appearance. Everything looks magical and sparkling, just like Louis, Harry thinks.

The two of them are currently in the car and on the icy road, clad in beanies and gloves and so many layers that Harry can barely turn the wheel properly. He’s playing Michael Bublé’s Christmas album on repeat, and if Louis is sick of it, he hasn’t said so yet. Louis knows that Christmas is Harry’s favourite time of year, and will do anything to make sure that he's constantly happy, which is why he's currently accompanying Harry to his favourite spot to buy a massive Christmas tree.

Harry doesn’t want to talk about the fact that his family is coming up for Christmas, and that Louis is probably headed back to Doncaster for his very own Christmas. The two haven’t spoken about the plans yet; too happy in each other’s space to try and bring up something that could risk taking that away from them.

So Harry is prepared to pretend like Louis will be around for Christmas, pretend that they’ll wake up together on Christmas morning and find mounds of presents underneath the Christmas tree they're heading out to buy.

Harry also wants to shower Louis with gifts, because he knows just how tight Louis is on money, and he wants Louis to feel like he's loved. He’s got more than enough money on him to get Louis at least seven presents.

And then an idea hits him.

He almost swerves off the road with how excited he becomes, and Louis’ eyes go wide when he sees this.

“Would you like to watch the road so that we can actually arrive live?” Louis squawks, burying himself deeper in his seatbelt.

Harry shrugs and looks over at the older boy, and he looks like a kitten buried in a bundle of blankets. He's got a grey beanie covering his head, his fluffy fringe poking out and falling in his icy cerulean eyes. He’s wearing a black hoodie with a snow jacket around himself, as well as his famous black skinnies that make Harry want to permanently grab his rounded, plump arse.

Harry spots the familiar wooden sign that reads _X-MAS TREES_ in black scrawl, and he turns off the road and drives through a thicket of trees that are evergreen and look stunning with snow dusting the leaves like icing on a cake.

The winding path comes to a clearing, and there are several cars parked on the slippery ground. Harry parks alongside them and they both get out of the car, Harry looping his fingers in between Louis’ as they walk. When he spies people, he pulls Louis close to him and slips their fingers in the pocket of his warm, bronze leather jacket. It looks rather peculiar, what with their height different and all, but they’ve grown accustomed to walking like this.

“Harry m’boy!” a great, burly man yells out so loud, a flock of birds take to the sky. “Was wondering when I’d see you again.”

“Hank,” Harry greets politely, shaking his hand with the one not currently intertwined with Louis’. “How’ve you been?”

“Great thanks, mate. Heard that you’ve become quite the star since I saw you last year. M’wife is obsessed with yer music!”

Harry adores the lovely, enormous Irishman, with his thick accent and dense gloomy beard. Harry thinks he rather resembles Hagrid, with his beard and immense body size.

“Tell her I say thank you,” Harry smiles. “This is Louis, by the way.”

“Nice to meet you, sir,” Louis salutes the burly man.

“The missus has told me about you too! Oh she’ll be so jealous that you both came ‘round. She loves all this ‘pop culture’ stuff as she calls it. Was fascinated to hear that Harry here was becoming a celebrity. She follows everything, you know.”

“Harry is definitely worth following,” Louis laughs shortly.

Hank has a weird glint in his eye when he looks back at Harry, and the lanky boy tries to ignore it as Hank gestures to the thicket of cut trees behind him.

“Well come on then, let’s get to it! Not like you need any help, Harry, so give me a shout when you see the perfect one!”

Harry thanks Hank again and directs Louis to the small opening in the fence surrounding the trees. Harry loves this part of tree shopping. He lets go of Louis as he begins inspecting all the greenery around him. Every tree is different, although several of them look identical if you don’t look carefully. Harry always pays attention to the thickness of the branches and the feel of the leaves. Louis is probably looking at him like he's a mad man; with the way he's feeling up the branches and crushing the leaves between his fingertips.

He turns back to Louis with a meek expression, but Louis is looking at him with fondness in his eyes, his head cocked to the side and a sexy smile playing on his lips. The look he's getting makes his stomach swirl and his heart stutter. He smiles tentatively back at Louis before returning to inspecting his trees.

“You gotta help me, Lou. After all, this is going to be our tree,” Harry says, and Louis looks kind of sullen when he says this, but helps Harry nevertheless.

It’s been half an hour of searching when Louis finally gives up.

“They're all the same! I don’t understand,” he huffs and pulls out a cigarette, a habit Harry hadn’t known about until a few weeks back, when he found Louis flicking the ashes over his balcony.

“Something I’d picked up from Zayn,” he had said simply, but the idea of it makes Harry cringe.

“We are literally in the heart of a forest, and you’re lighting something highly flammable. Louis, do you not sense the potential danger in the situation?”

“Danger is my middle name,” he quips, and takes a long drag.

Harry watches him plop himself down on a tree trunk, and he giggles but says nothing. He leaves Louis there and turns another corner, the maze of trees making it impossible to see anything but green and white. He knows he shouldn’t be so technical about this kind of stuff, but it has always been his job to choose the tree, even back in the day with his father.

He briefly flashes back to those days, where his father would hoist him above his head and drop him on his broad shoulders to check if Harry would be able to put the star on the top of the tree. If the trees were too tall, they would find another one, and if the leaves broke off to easily or the branches snapped, they would move on. The tree had to be perfect.

“Louis?” Harry calls out loudly, hoping to be heard above the whistling wind. “Lou? Come here a second.”

It isn’t long before a familiar head of golden chestnut hair appears, cigarette discarded, and he bounces to where Harry is standing, saluting and saying, “Tomlinson, reporting for duty. Does the captain need a blowjob in the snow?”

“Not right now, but don’t let me forget that idea,” Harry giggles, before pulling Louis close to him. “I need you to get on my shoulders.”

Louis immediately looks shy and insecure, looking down at the snow-covered floor and murmuring something about being too heavy.

“Nonsense,” Harry says harshly, pulling Louis in by his hips and kissing him quickly. “You aren’t at all. Come on, I need to test this. I think this is the tree.”

Louis reluctantly gets on a tree trunk and lifts his legs on to Harry’s shoulders. Harry is thankful for Rebecca forcing him to go to the gym. Louis isn’t heavy, just muscular, and Harry with his awkward frame wouldn’t have been able to hold him without the muscle he’s packed on as of late.

He steadies himself and walks forward towards the tree. Louis sways above him but doesn’t fall. Harry kind of likes the way his thighs cling to the sides of his face. He gulps.

“Okay, can you reach the top of the tree? Like the very top where the star would go?” Harry asks him, and he feels Louis lean forward on his shoulders.

“Yeah, I can,” Louis replies.

“Okay, and if you pull it, does it break?” Harry asks, his heart sagging because he's repeating the exact questions his father used to kindly drill him with.

“Nope,’ Louis say again, and Harry looks up at him.

Louis looks like an angel with snowflakes in his hair and the stark white sky as his background. His eyes are a beautiful shade of sapphire with the lightest shades of sea-foam around his pupil. Harry can’t see the green right now, but he knows it’s there. It’s like a small bit of Harry’s jade eyes are buried within Louis.

Louis suddenly leans down and connects his lips with Harry’s, the snow falling lightly around them, like a blanket protecting them from everyone else. It’s a Spiderman kiss, and Harry doesn’t quite know how to move his lips like this, but it’s magical and works all the same.

“Come on,” Harry says as they break apart from each other. “This is the one.”

 

They spend the next two hours hoisting the tree in to the living room, the green standing out against the red, white and black theme of the house. It looks gorgeous – tall and lusciously green and fat, waiting for decoration. Harry thinks this is the best tree yet.

There's a pile of snow that’s slowly melting and Louis cheekily shakes more off the tree and on to the hardwood floor every time the pile becomes a puddle. Then, the fun begins.

Harry breaks out cardboard box after box filled to the brim with shiny tinsel and glass ornaments. Louis’ mouth drops open when the seven boxes have all been brought out. Harry grins lopsidedly at the silvers and reds and greens, and Louis looks at him with a determined and excited expression.

Harry cant help but admire their work when they're finally done – gold, red and silver wrapped around the tree in what looks like one perfect snake slithering up towards the top. There are countless baubles and trinkets hanging off of them, glinting against the fairy lights that tie the entire tree together. Harry laughs at Louis, who is currently sprawled out on the floor, his eyes shut and his mouth going on about how much work it was to cover the entire tree.

“We’ve got to do the star!” Harry exclaims, pulling Louis up against his wishes.

“Can’t. Go. On,” Louis puffs out in tired breaths, but gets on the couch in order to climb on Harry.

Harry opens the last box, and inside is a large, heavy silver star that’s been in his family for years. His mother had gifted it to him before he’d left for London, and his eyes had welled up with tears because _this_ was something extremely important to him. And he wants to share it with Louis.

“When I was little, I used to go out with my dad and choose trees like I did with you today. He would always put me on his shoulders to see if I could reach the top for the star. It kind of stopped when things fell apart, but I still continued on with the tradition myself afterwards. This is my family star, if you’d like, and I want to share this with you. Make a new tradition.”

Louis is rendered speechless, his lips parted to say something, but harry gently places a finger on his lips to shush him. “Don’t say anything, just do this with me?”

“I would be honoured,” Louis eventually says with a beautiful grin. “Hoist me up there, Styles.”

Louis gently gets on Harry’s shoulders and Harry walks forward, holding Louis tightly and stopping when Louis is close enough to lean forward. He hears Louis struggle slightly, before he's pulling back and the two stand like that, Louis on top of Harry, watching the flickering fairy lights and the way the star just positively glows in the embers of the Christmas tree lights.

“Thank you for doing this with me, Lou,” Harry murmurs, his heart thudding with nothing but love for the blue-eyed boy above him. “It means so much to me.”

“Wouldn’t have missed this for the world,” Louis whispers back, gently caressing Harry’s cheek with his fingertips. “Wouldn’t have missed this with _you_ for the world.”

 

 

~

 

 

Harry is soon reminded that not everything can stay perfect for very long.

It’s a few days later that Harry comes home after a concert, covered in snowflakes, buzzing and high off of the adrenaline that comes with him performing. He's incredibly horny too, having spent portions of his stage time grinding on mic stands and making the audience groan. He’s definitely ready to get down and dirty with Louis.

Except, Louis isn’t home.

Harry starts to become worried when he rummages through his closet to grab some sweatpants, and he doesn’t spy Louis’ familiar hoodies and pants in the space that had been cleared out for him and his regular visits. The bed is made neatly, and not crinkled and half slept-in the way Louis usually leaves it if he has an afternoon nap like he said he might. There's no _Addidas_ tog bag in the corner of the room anymore, and this is when Harry’s high wears off and his stomach sinks. It looks as if Louis was never there at all.

_He's left me._

Harry throws the thought away as soon as it surfaces, because he refuses to believe it. It cannot be true. He had literally left Louis downstairs, playing on Harry’s playstation. He had hopped up with sunshine in his eyes and kisses Harry until he was breathless, before uttering, “Break a leg, love. We can have some fun when you get home.”

And granted, this is probably the cause of Harry’s horniness.

But any need for sex has disappeared and been replaced with extreme worry. He really doesn’t know what to do. He's rendered speechless and is frozen because he doesn’t know what to do. What if this was Louis’ plan all along? Just up and leave Harry before anything became too serious? The thought makes Harry sick to his stomach, and he has to swallow back the bile rising in his throat.

It’s not true.

It can’t be.

He wishes he knew that this was going to happen. Except, he honestly couldn’t have known. Louis was as happy and cheery as he always is when he left. Is it just that Harry can’t read Louis like he should be able to, or did Louis just not care enough to be bothered about leaving?

Maybe he's blowing this all out of proportion. Harry sits on the bed, and wants to cry when he smells the faint scent of Louis’ cologne on the pillow that he buries his face in to. Louis could be anywhere right now. The rational side of Harry that seems to be slipping away with every passing moment reminds him that he does in fact have another home.

He scrambles for his phone as he races downstairs, his fingers quivering as he scrolls for Louis’ contact. The dialing tone carries on and on, until Harry is just about desperate, and finally someone picks up.

“Louis! Thank God-“

“It’s Niall, mate,” a sullen voice comes through the phone. “Louis has left his phone here.”

“Do you know where he is?” Harry gasps, his voice strained. “He's just up and left. I don’t know where he's gone.”

“He’s not here,” Niall replies, sounding upset. “He's um, he's gone home. He doesn’t want you to call. He’s perfectly fine. There was just…an emergency.”

Niall’s words sound scripted in a way that sounds very Louis-ish to him. Harry is definitely worried now, because Louis has obviously told Niall what to tell Harry. He doesn’t know why Louis couldn’t fucking tell him himself.

“Why did he leave his phone? That’s dangerous, Ni! He's just buggered off without telling me, who does he think he is? Like I’m not going to sit here and worry my arse off. He could be in trouble Ni, someone on the train could’ve done something, I don’t know. I can’t sit back and wait for news from him, I just can’t-“

“Harry, don’t do what I think you’re about to do-“

“Do you know when the next train to Doncaster leaves? And can you bring his phone?” Harry interrupts him.

“Wait for me at your place at least, Haz. Then I’ll help you, okay?” Niall pleads.

Harry wishes he could just pack up and leave, but he has no idea where Louis lives, and Niall might be his only hope. He sighs and agrees glumly, before dropping the phone and retreating to his bedroom as he begins to pack.

 

It’s probably about ten minutes later that he hears the door open, and Niall has obviously jumped the wall again. He wishes that Niall would buzz the gate like a normal person. He’s almost done packing, and he walks downstairs to grab one of his clean shirts from the laundry. He's shocked to find Niall, standing with Liam and… _Nick_? They all drop their bags on the floor and look at Harry with a weary expression, like he's a kitten that needs to be caught in order to be taken to the vet.

“What are you all doing here?” Harry asks, aghast. “Are you all here to help me?”

“Not exactly…” Niall trails off. “We’re here to kind of kidnap you.”

“What?” Harry asks, confused out of his mind. “I don’t understand.”

“Don’t look at me,” Nick says, shrugging. “I was dragged here as backup.”

“I don’t understand,” Harry repeats, shaking his head. “Kidnap me?”

Its at that moment that Liam lunges for him and shoves him backwards on to the plush couch, and Harry is struggling against the wall of muscle that is Liam, and he knows he's got no chance. Liam is made of hard, rigid muscle and his biceps are so large that they could probably squeeze the life out of Harry. He still doesn’t know what’s going on, but he sees Niall and Nick gathering up his house and car keys and dropping them in to Niall’s tog bag.

“What are you guys doing? Can someone please tell me what the fuck is going on?” Harry yells when Niall locks the front door.

“Louis told us that if you tried to get to him somehow, we have to stop you. This is the most effective way we could think of,” Niall shrugs, plopping down on the couch opposite him and Liam, who is currently still draped across Harry and holding him down. “Simple, but effective.”

“Can someone please just tell me why I can’t see him?” Harry asks desperately, giving up the fight and slouching against the couch. Liam releases him and grabs all the bags and takes them in to the guest room.

“That’s the thing…Louis doesn’t want us to tell you that either,” Liam says nervously when he comes back. “All he's told us is to keep you away from Doncaster until he gets back.”

“But what if he needs me?” Harry murmurs, old fears of not being wanted resurfacing.

Somehow, Harry knows that Louis doesn’t want him wherever he is. Whether it be because Louis doesn’t think he's good enough for his family, or if he doesn’t want his family to think he's got someone serious right now. Then again, Harry knows next to nothing about Louis’ family, and it’s not in the spirit of Louis to ever really say anything remotely personal.

“Trust me on this one, sweetheart. He doesn’t. Louis is a very independent soul, and the sooner you accept that fact, the happier you’ll be,” Nick’s voice resonates throughout the house as he emerges from the kitchen. “You won’t change him.”

“Oh,” is all Harry can say, his snarky comment dying on his tongue. He finds it amazing that without Louis around, he slowly slips back in to his awkward, shy state of being. He hates it. “So you’re all keeping me under house arrest? For how long?”

“Either until Louis gets back or until we’ve broken you and you’ve given up on going to get him,” Nick says bluntly.

“And to think I thought you were a nice person,” Harry grumbles under his breath, and sighs deeply.

Harry hates it when Louis is secretive. He thought that they were doing well lately, sharing small secrets in the dark and underneath the sheets of his bed. They were nothing major, just small little confessions like how Louis has five sisters and a brother, that he has a stepfather named Mark, and he took said stepfather’s surname rather than his real father’s. The topic of fathers quickly became awkward and sensitive that night, and so they had moved swiftly along.

And now that Louis has gone and done _this_ , it’s just unbelievable to Harry. It makes him extremely angry to know that Louis would tell Niall but not him. More importantly, it kills him that Louis actually is having his friends physically keep him away from finding out what the hell is going on.

“I cannot believe how shit he's being,” Harry says, his anger taking the form of disbelieved utters. “Like, I’m constantly open with him and he's constantly quiet about anything personal. It’s fucking irritating.”

“We know,” Niall replies immediately, “I’ve known Louis for seventeen years, and it took him about sixteen years and eleven months to open up to me about this kind of stuff. I’m exaggerating, but you get the gist of it.”

“To be fair, I never got told anything either,” Nick chimes in, to which Harry retorts, “Well, you weren’t really a boyfriend now were you?”

Harry can see how much the words sting Nick, and he instantly apologizes, blaming his anger for his outburst. Nick accepts it but doesn’t talk much after that, his face constantly set in deep thought for the rest of the night.

Its only when the middle of the night comes that Harry breaks down. He can’t sleep without Louis, and has spent most of the night tossing and turning and trying to ignore the faint scent of Louis on his bedsheets. He'd only curled up more and breathed in harder. He's been staring at Louis' phone and the lockscreen that has been changed from a default background to that of the four of them at Harry's EP Release - all perfect smiles and bleary eyes, drunk on shots and the prospect of everlasting fame. It seems like it's been forever since that night.

He's fed up. He pads down the stairs with bleary eyes, his body heavy and his head fuzzy. He doesn’t want to think about this anymore, but Louis is the only thing that ever clouds his mind, and he feels totally suffocated.

He rests against the cold window of the balcony door, his face pressed against the cool glass, instantly relaxing him. He sighs and closes his eyes, begging someone out there to just help him out.

“Can’t sleep?” he hears a deep voice echo quietly across the dark house.

He just nods against the glass, too emotionally exhausted to reply. He hears the sound of footsteps grow louder, until a body drops down in front of him. Nick joins him in looking out over the city lights and falling snow, blowing clouds on to the window and watching them dissipate.

“You shouldn’t worry about Louis,” Nick replies softly, “He can take care of himself.”

“I have to worry, Nick,” Harry says, his eyes burning from lack of sleep and unshed tears. “I can’t not worry, it’s not what I do. He just, he never tells me anything. Ever. And I thought it was because he had major, _major_ trust issues.”

“He does,” Nick smiles sadly, “It’s one of the reasons we broke off whatever thing we had going on.”

“You wanted to be his boyfriend?” Harry questions softly, unsure if he wants to tread in to Louis’ love life.

“I think I was in love with him,” Nick admits gently, and Harry’s heart stops. “The trouble was getting him to see that.”

“So it wasn’t you who-“

“Traumatized him and his emotions? No. But believe me, I’ve heard about the guy. I’m a little further down Louis’ timeline of flings.”

“I’m not a fling,” Harry babbles to himself, wrapping his arms around his knees and pulling them to his chest.

“No,” Nick says quickly, sensing Harry’s distress and possible oncoming tears. “You really aren’t.”

“Sometimes it feels like it.”

Harry doesn’t feel the tears, but Nick notices them before him, and he's suddenly at Harry’s side, curling a strong arm around his skinny waist and bringing him tightly in to his side. Harry doesn’t resist and instead curls in to his arms and places a heavy head in the crook of Nick’s neck. He smells faintly of musk, similar to Louis, but Louis smells sweeter in Harry’s mind. Like a tough vanilla or sandalwood. He sniffs through his tears.

Harry feels like an insecure, small, broken boy again, hiding away from the world and finding comfort in places he really shouldn’t. He wants to ask Nick what happened between the two of them, but he can’t find it in himself to ask. He's not sure if it’s because his stomach is swirling and he’s trying to find a way to keep himself together, or if it’s because he's afraid of hearing the answer.

“You’re an amazing boy, Harold,” Nick croons softly, as if he senses that Harry needs to be coddled in times like these. “Louis is so lucky to have you. I’m so glad he can have someone that cares about him this much. You’re the only person I’d rather be with him than me.”

Harry’s too tired to ask him what that means.

And so all he does is cry.

He curls himself closer to Nick, seeking comfort in his strength. Nick holds him close and whispers sweet words in to his mounds of curls, trying to calm his as best as he can. He’s sure that his tears have stained Nick’s shirt, but he doesn’t seem to mind. He just cards his fingers through Harry’s curls and rubs soothing circles against the jutting vertebrae of his spine. He’s not sure what Louis would say if he were here right now, but Harry decides that Louis doesn’t get a say in Harry’s alternative ways of finding comfort.

He wasn’t here to provide it, after all.

“Are you guys really keeping me locked under house arrest until this all blows over?” Harry sniffles against Nick’s chest.

“Don’t you think that if this door wasn’t locked, and I wasn’t here, you would hop over your balcony and run for the nearest station?” Nick asks, and it sounds like such a rhetorical question, because Harry knows they both know the answer.

“I would, probably.”

“No, you would. Definitely.”

Harry sighs again and wipes the tears away from his pallid face, his sleeves wet when he pulls them back. He wants to tell Nick that he's not always like this, that he's sometimes just a bit emotional, but with the look in Nick’s eyes when Harry meets them, it just feels like he knows already. So Harry stays quiet and curled up in his embrace.

“Thank you, Nick.”

Harry really isn’t sure what he's thanking him for – a million reasons all at once, or a few specifics, but he’s just thankful for him right now. Because if Nick wasn’t here to hold Harry together, he’s not sure what he would’ve done.

 

“ _I would never do anything to hurt you, love. Ever._ _”_

Louis’ words from a few days prior ring in his ears as he falls asleep, pressed against Nick as he tries to ignore the worry that’s slowly consuming him.


	18. Merde

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to everyone who reads and supports this story. I love you all so much.
> 
> It would mean the world if you could comment - about what you want, how you feel, thoughts on the chapters, criticism, favourite bits, whatever! I love love hearing from you all. 
> 
> enjoy! xx

Harry hates worrying.

And yeah, okay, that’s kind of-very contradictory, considering his anxiety disorder. Regardless, this mess with Louis and waking up in the guest bedroom beside Nick kind of sparks every fibre of his being that’s able to worry, and in Harry, that’s almost all every fibre.

He doesn’t mean to vomit, nor does he mean to have diarrhea for the next two days because of said incessant worry, but the boys don’t really mind, because it just keeps Harry bedridden and unable to plan any tactical escapes through the window or up the chimney. Really, they should just bar his windows.

Harry thinks that that would spark far too many Harry Potter jokes.

Nevertheless, Harry can barely get to the bathroom four feet away without shitting his pants, let alone drive anywhere or get on a freaking train.

When he wakes up _that_ morning next to Nick, his eyes open to warm ones not belonging to Louis, and a short, curly quiff falling in a very un-Louis like face. So, Harry immediately bolts to the guest bathroom to vomit his guts out. That’s when it all begins.

He hasn’t spoken to Nick about the night he fell asleep in his embrace, because it’s far too awkward to even acknowledge. Harry finally narrows it down to Nick being the closest thing to Louis in a romantic way. No, they don’t talk about it, because talking about it would mean facing something that Harry thinks is hidden in Nick. And he doesn’t want to talk about that, either. He’ll just continue to sleep in Nick’s bed so that he can get a substantial amount of sleep in order to function.

It’s on the third day of his bowels and oesophagus acting up that his stool begins to solidify (thank god) and Harry can actually join the boys downstairs to play a video game or two. He doesn’t talk much, his mind constantly fixated on Louis and how he's doing, but every time he quizzes Niall after a phone call that’s taken outside, despite the onslaught of snow, he gives away nothing but “Louis is alright. He's fine.”

Harry wants to know if Louis has ever once stopped to think about the state Harry is in, how much he's worrying, what he's doing. Harry needs to remind his boyfriend that he does possess a disorder that makes his worry almost a hundred times more than normal. He wonders if Louis has forgotten.

The thought pangs at Harry’s chest, and he has to excuse himself from the game to wallow in his self-pity. His bed is unmade when he reaches it. The pillow he wraps in his arms smells of Louis, and Harry is wearing a pair of his sweatpants, and it’s all a little too much for him.

He ignores the way the pants expose a little more than his ankles, just like he tries to ignore the pain that Louis has bestowed upon him. Harry is trying to ignore everything lately.

However, he can’t ignore the way something pulls him towards Louis. He feels it every second of every day that they're apart, as if there's a small string attached to both his and Louis’ hearts, thin and soft and indestructible. He feels it stretch and pull on his emotions, tugging him forward if it is were a hasty dog on a leash. Him and Louis are bound by something as unexplainable as how nebulas and galaxies are formed. Louis is like the moon, and Harry is the swirling ocean, rough and endless and stormy under the moon’s influence. Harry’s tectonic plates are shifting, and he has no clue how long it will be until he becomes a tsunami and destroys everything in his wake.

He doesn’t know when the tears come, or how long they’ve been there until he feels a cool hand brush the hot wetness away. He jumps, frightened, and opens his eyes to meet the glittering azure ones of Niall, not nearly as shiny or as exquisite and Louis’. Nothing is.

“Hey, Haz, come on, he's okay,” Niall coos weakly, pushing Harry’s greasy hair back so that it doesn’t stick to the wetness of his face. “I promise, he's fine. He just has to deal with some things right now.”

Harry doesn’t have the energy to argue anymore, because he's also dealing with some things but no one seems keen to let him fix said things. He sobs erratically, stuck between trying to breathe and trying to release the hurt and anger pent up inside of him. He sounds like a wailing animal, his body gasping for air. His vision begins to swirl and dot, and he scrambles around for something, anything to anchor him from floating away in to his anxiety.

It doesn’t help that he usually latches on to Louis to keep him from sinking.

“Fuck Louis,” Niall growls. “If he weren’t my best mate, and I didn’t know just how much he needs you, I would’ve told you to drop that fucker a long time ago. He’s not worth this pain he constantly puts you through. But he needs you. God, this is so hard.”

“Tell me about it,” Harry hiccups. “Sometimes I wonder if he's worth all of this, and then I make him smile that beautiful smile or he kisses me and I just know.”

The memory of Louis’ lips dusting over his sends him in to another wave of emotional turmoil, and his anxiety grips at his chest, constricting his lungs like an angry hand clutching a stress ball.

Niall eventually catches on to his panic attack symptoms and grabs Harry’s medication. It’s a struggle to get it in to his system, but Harry is calmer ten minutes later, curled in to a ball and lifeless, his skin pallid and his eyes open, staring off in to nothing.

He can vaguely see Niall out of the corner of his leaking eye, pacing the room and tugging at the blonde tuffs of his hair. He’s wiping his face in exasperation, until he’s bolting out the door. He doesn’t come back.

Harry’s left in his own little world, filled with misery and pity and exhaustion. He has no energy left to cry, and his body is slack, but his eyes remain open. They're past the point of burning, already too dry, as if he's been sleeping with them open. He can’t help it as almost every insecurity he's ever felt about Louis makes its way to the surface of his brain.

He can’t stop himself wondering if he was ever good enough. Louis met him when he was a shy, awkward boy with an inability to keep his emotions in check. There was absolutely nothing about Harry to attract _Louis_ to him. It baffles Harry the way his lankly, clumsy body and his too-long, curly hair could attract such an effervescent light like Louis Tomlinson, with his wit, sass, and ability to bring the life in to any situation. They're polar opposites, Louis and Harry, and honestly, if Harry were Louis, he would not be wasting his time on the likes of himself.

There are no words for how Harry feels right now – so empty, but so full at the same time. His heart is running low on happy emotions, craving the love and affection that has been so absent the past few days. He's an addict, and Louis is his crack.

And maybe that’s Harry’s problem. Maybe Harry is so caught up in being taken care of, so obsessed with the idea of having Louis as a boyfriend, that he's become far too dependent on the pixie-haired boy, whereas Louis is still completely fine being independent most of the time. Maybe Harry suffocates Louis. Maybe it’s time Harry learned to stop asphyxiating people. Maybe it’s time that Harry let go.

Harry scoffs at the idea. He's a baby, a child trapped in a man’s body; unable to take care of himself and provide himself with the sustenance he needs in order to survive. He needs Louis to be by his side and coddle him, move him along when he's stuck and press dainty kisses to his face to chase away the fears lurking inside of him like figures in shrouds of fog. The problem is, Louis isn’t like that. And Harry is.

He hates himself for it.

He hates Louis for doing this.

He hates the fact that he's so desperately in love with Louis that it hurts to breathe without the smaller boy by his side.

He growls in to the pillow, the thin fibres stitched together with his salty tears, Louis’ achingly familiar cologne, and the words Harry yells in to the fabric so that no one can hear him. He doesn’t know what the hell to do with himself.

 

(Harry dreams of Louis that night, dreams of him in a crumpled mess on a hardwood floor, his arms shaking and his body quivering. Harry jars awake to the sound of Louis’ strangled sobs.)

~

 

 

Of _fucking_ course Harry has to perform a concert.

Because what is an artist without a job to do?

He has a concert tonight, and Liam, Niall and Nick are trying to work out a schedule that suits them all and doesn’t allow Harry out of their sights for more than two seconds.

“I could just tell security not to let you anywhere near the venue,” Harry says, picking at his nails while he listens to the boys bicker. “’S not that big of a deal.”

Harry knows he won’t do that, because secretly, he's afraid Niall will call Louis on whatever number he's got right now and tell him Harry’s on his way, and Louis will bolt because he doesn’t want to face the boy with the sad green eyes and inability to take care of himself.

Truth is, Harry’s scared that if he does turn up where Louis is, Louis will literally murder him. Or break-up with him. The latter sounds worse.

“But you won’t, Harold,” Niall says sternly, as if reading his thoughts. “Because that wouldn’t be fair to Louis’ wishes, now would it?”

“It’s not like he's been fair to mine,” Harry bitches, glaring at Niall.

He's taken the form of a few personalities lately. First, it was the sad, depressed kid that wanted attention from everyone and everything. He even got Liam to cuddle with him at night for three days straight, replacing Nick. Having Liam next to him made him feel much better, and not like he was committing and act of infidelity. Secondly, it was the spaced-out kid who never spoke or listened to anyone or anything, and hardly ate. And now, it’s the bitchy kid who hates the world and all the people in it.

He calls it the three stages of separation anxiety from a certain Mr. Louis Tomlinson.

“Harry, please just bare with us. Louis will be home really soon, he's only been gone a week and a bit.”

Yes, it might just be a week and a bit to them. A week of having to look after and constantly keep their eyes on a ticking time bomb, of late nights holding a broken-down boy, of making sure Harry is eating properly, because Harry has since realized that he definitely cannot take care of himself.

But for Harry, it’s been a week and _four_ days with Louis absent from every second. A week minus chaste kisses and blowjobs on the dinning room table, of cooking food for his favourite person and spending his nights with his sunshine by his side. It’s been a week minus any joy in his life. To sum it all up – it’s been a week from hell.

And Harry’s coping – barely. He copes with his mood swings and empty thoughts, because he’s tired of being worried and tired because this feels so much like a break-up. He's not sure what’s going to happen between Louis and him when the former returns, but he knows that if he's in this mood, it’s not going to be pretty. Louis has another thing coming if he thinks he’s going to be welcomed back with open, adoring arms.

“Please, just for a few more days,” Niall begs, his face scrunched up and tired.

Harry can see the toll this is taking on all the boys. Niall’s once-chipper face and cheery attitude has faded, leaving behind a pale, exhausted boy with colourful bags underneath his eyelids that match his eyes. Liam is constantly trying to keep them all together and okay, pulling Niall and Harry out of heated arguments when things get particularly nasty.

“ _Just tell me where he's gone!_ ”

“ _Maybe Louis doesn_ _’t want to be found by you! Maybe he's trying to get away from you_!”

(Niall had spent the night holding Harry in his weakening arms and promising Harry with broken, dry sobs that he didn’t mean it, and that Louis had most definitely _not_ said anything of the sort.)

This isn’t easy for him, nor is it easy for the rest of the boys, and Harry will not admit in the daylight that he finds his comfort at two in the morning in a certain boy named Nick’s bed. He doesn’t even think about it during the day, and he’ll only let himself consider it if he honestly cannot deal with his gruesome thoughts anymore.

The nights he didn’t spend curled in Liam’s strong, reassuring arms when he wanted attention, he spent with Nick. And even though Harry has previously refused to have anything to do with him other than be polite during mass conversations, he found that he needed a soothing aura when things became far too much, when he couldn’t silence the overwhelming thoughts of insecurity from his head. 

Nick is a comforting presence that holds Harry while he cries and lets him share his stories about Louis. He isn’t a jealous lover, and always prides in being genuinely interested in what the curly-haired boy has to say. Nick, over the past five nights, has been a welcoming friend who will be with Harry when he doesn’t want to bother his exhausted friends. He's the closest thing to Louis that Harry has got.

They don’t acknowledge the words shared between each other at three am, don’t even acknowledge each other in the mornings, just a simple nod before Harry is retreating to his own bedroom in the pale morning light, and he is so, _so_ thankful for it.

Just then, Harry turns to meet Nick’s eyes, and they’re warm and pleading silently with him to just cooperate for once. Harry rolls his eyes, before turning to Niall and nodding. He feels really shit, being so rude to everyone, but its like he doesn’t control the sharp flicks of his tongue and the insolent words that tumble out of his mouth.

“I’ll look after H tonight,” Nick says suddenly, and Niall turns to him like he wants to object, but says nothing. “You two need a rest. Just relax, go out, maybe we’ll come for a bit of clubbing later on.”

“Are you sure?” Liam questions hesitantly, not eager to leave Harry.

“Positive. And you’ll listen to me, won’t you, Harry?” Nick asks, raising his eyebrows.

“Yeah,” Harry mumbles, his eyes downcast.

“You promise, Haz?” Niall asks, placing a gentle hand on Harry’s shoulder and flicking his chin. “Like, do you totally promise me you won’t run for the nearest train station?”

“Yeah, Ni,” Harry replies softly, meeting Niall’s tired eyes that make Harry feel guilty. He lets his anger fall for a second. “I promise. You should relax for a bit. Get away from my moods and me. It’s Christmas break; you should be out partying, not looking after a sorry boy who can’t take care of himself.”

“You can take care of yourself. You did it way before Louis, you can do it in his absence, too.”

And that’s probably the most inspiring thing Harry has heard in the past week and four days.

 

 

Harry leaves a napping Liam and Niall at five in the afternoon, Nick by his side as they trudge through the thin layer of snow on Harry’s driveway. It’s freezing, Harry’s nose is red and running, and his life is shit right now. He wishes that he were with Louis, and that they were rummaging in the icy slush and kissing while making snow angels.

They bundle in to the car, and Harry turns up the heat to full, the windows misting over with the temperature difference between the car and the outside. He drives carefully, making sure that no turn is too sharp and watching cautiously for any cars that may appear out of the thin blanket of snow that’s falling all around them.

“I wish I wasn’t so shit,” Harry blurts out suddenly, and Nick looks up from his phone.

“What do you mean? You aren’t shit,” Nick replies easily, looking at Harry with worry creased in to his face.

“Like, I wish I was normal. I wish I wasn’t so worrying and dependent. Most couples would be a little worried if their significant other disappeared like Louis did, but they wouldn’t be like me. They would rationalize and think that maybe they needed some time for themselves or that there was an emergency and that they would be home soon with news.”

“There was an emergency at Louis’, you know that. And besides, he handled it wrong. He should’ve at least spoke to you about it.”

“Yeah, but like I said, I’m not normal. I can’t help but always think the worst. My mind is constantly like: “What if he's trying to get away from me? Why can’t he trust me enough to tell me about the emergency? Why do I have to worry like this? Why won’t he take me with him? Why won’t he let me meet his parents? Does he even like me? Am I another play toy of his?” There’s not a moment where I’m not doubting myself,” Harry breathes out, frustrated, gnawing on his raw bottom lip.

“I can’t answer all of that, because I know as much about what’s going on as you, and even less about Louis, but I can tell you this. You are not his plaything. He’s besotted with you, and I don’t even think he knows it yet. I’ve never seen him act this way with anyone, let alone seen him with a proper boyfriend, H. You are an amazing person, you’re kind and sweet and beautiful, and Louis is so, so lucky to have someone worry about him the way you do. Louis is being a proper dick about this, and I’m sorry but your relationship isn’t healthy. I wish he would open up his fucking eyes and see you for what you really are: _the best thing that_ _’s ever happened to him._ ”

Harry doesn’t answer Nick; too busy swirling over every compliment thrown his way and the words _your relationship isn_ _’t healthy_. They just don’t know about the real Louis, the Louis that he is when he's around Harry. Harry knows he's been treated like proper shite, and would’ve given up a long time ago if not for the love he felt for Louis. If not for the kisses they’ve shared and the rare moments of confession from Louis. If not for the way he knows Louis might just love him.

He leans over and despite his better judgment, squeezes Nick’s thigh, and he doesn’t pull away when Nick intertwines their fingers and squeezes him back reassuringly.

The concert is okay, and Harry’s sure that news will be swirling about him and his love life, because he sings every song, dedicating it to a person and asking them to come back to him. It’s sad, but the crowd adores it, and Harry leaves with an adrenaline rush and a mind clouded with thoughts of Louis.

Nick is driving Harry home, Harry who is deep in thought and no longer running on adrenaline, Harry with his eyes trained on the window. He's watching the blur of city lights as they flicker in front of his eyes. He’s so deep inside of himself tonight, barely registering the words that are flying out of Nick’s mouth as they squeak along the wet asphalt. He can’t hear anything around him, his senses overtaken by the sickening feeling growing inside of him. It’s snowing hard now, and ice is clacking against the windscreen like hail.

Harry still can’t hear it.

He’s so sad, so exhausted, and this sickening feeling is wrapped around him like a hand suffocating him, fingers clenching around his throat. He's felt bad like this before, but he refuses to acknowledge that it’s the same kind of bad. It would be dangerous if this were the same bad.

He's missing a piece of himself, a piece that Louis has taken with him all the way to Doncaster, and the longer the piece is away, the quicker Harry will go mad.

Harry is a candle, a radiant, jade candle that flickers gracefully in the wind. It’s like Louis has poured kerosene over him, and he's spinning out of control, flames growing until he sets everything around him alight. Harry can’t let that happen.

“Pull in to the nearest club,” Harry blurts quickly, suddenly, and Nick gives him a puzzled look. “Just do it. Please.”

Nick shakes his head, thoughts unspoken as he carries on driving. Ten minutes later – Harry is underneath the pulsing lights, his head dizzy and his eyes flickering around the darkened room. He heads straight for the bar, brushing past gyrating bodies that move to the sickening base that ricochets through Harry’s entire body.

Everything is sickening tonight.

Harry orders three shots of the strongest drink the bartender has in his possession, and the bartender eyes him quizzically before grabbing a clear, expensive looking bottle. Harry debates on buying the entire thing.

He feels a hand on his back, safe and reassuring, and he turns around with blurry eyes to face Nick, who looks torn and pitiful. Harry doesn’t want his pity. He wants to get drunk and forget about Louis.

The bartender pushes the shorts towards him, a clear and potent liquid sloshing about. Harry’s lanky fingers grab at the slippery, cool glass, throwing back one after the other, savouring the sting that resonates in his throat and chest. The burn stays in his chest well after he finishes the last one and waves at the bartender to keep them coming. Nick pulls him away from the bar, intertwining their fingers in the darkness and pressing a shaking palm to Harry’s hot cheek.

‘”Are you okay? H? Be honest,” Nick asks in his ear, the music far too loud around them.

“Fine,” Harry replies back, because he is fine. He has to be fine. “Just wanted to relax, get drunk, you know?”

“So this is have a good time, get relaxed drunk? No other motives?” Nick probes, as if he knows exactly what Harry’s plan is.

“Nope.”

Nick sighs and pulls back from Harry reluctantly, and Harry returns to his stool at the bar, throwing back the next round of shots that are waiting for him and a cocktail that sounds remotely appealing.

Even with the thrashing music, the bodies whirling all around him, and Nick by his side, watching his every move, Harry doesn’t feel safe or loved. He needs Louis. It’s all finally starting to hit him, and he needs to numb the feelings as quick as possible.

Harry manages to get away with four hours of partying, with several more shots intoxicating his system, a few girls dancing around him as he moves drunkenly to the music, and Nick nowhere in sight. He’s been hovering around Harry the entire night, watching Harry from a booth or a bar without ever losing sight of him. Harry feels good – drunk – but good. Excellent even.

When a girl grinds particularly hard against his groin, he feels the familiar pressure of a full bladder, and immediately stumbles towards the restrooms. They're pretty clean in this club, and don’t seem to have semen on the walls or a stall housing a girl on her knees. There's a bodyguard at the door, and Harry suspects that this is why. He relieves himself and washes his hands and face, trying to rid himself of the sticky and sweaty feeling.

He makes the mistake of looking at himself in the mirror, and he freezes as he stares in to his empty, jade eyes. His face is pallid, with two blushing roses on his cheeks and droplets dripping down his face. His lips are raw and flaking from the constant anxious biting and gnawing he does unconsciously. He stares himself in the eyes, and can’t stop himself as a raw sob escapes his mouth, and his face contorts painfully as the monster he's been fighting for the past two weeks finally consumes him.

He stumbles backwards, his back hitting the wall painfully. He slides down, his arse landing harshly on the white tiles, tiles too white and shiny and perfect for his current state of mind. He cries, his body wracking as if he's vomiting up his tears. He can’t breathe, what with the pain that’s overtaken his body. He wants Louis, he needs Louis, and he can’t help himself as he calls out for him.

Louis doesn’t come running through the door, doesn’t arrive with his sparkling blue eyes filled with worry, doesn’t appear with his face contorted with worry, doesn’t drop down next to him and hold him close – no. He doesn’t.

Harry feels cold – his body is overrun with goosebumps and he's shivering. His tears are leaving hot tracks down his face, staining the trails red and dripping on to the pure tiles.

It feels like forever until Nick runs in, and spots Harry on the floor. He's a mess, Harry knows this, but he doesn’t give a flying fuck. He doesn’t care about anything right now.

“Shouldn’t have fucking let you drink so much,” Nick growls as he drops down next to Harry, curling his warm body against his, pulling him closer and in to his lap. “Shouldn’t have listened to you when you said that you were gonna drink for fun. You’re just like Louis was.”

Harry sobs even harder at the comparison.

It’s not glamorous, Harry crying in his boyfriend’s sworn enemy’s lap, drunk and disorderly, his emotions a mess, and his body becomes a puddle on the bathroom floor of a club. He holds on to Nick with a death grip, scared that if he lets go, he’ll lose himself completely. He wants to blame this on the alcohol, but he needed this. He's needed to get this out for a while now, and the alcohol was the perfect escape.

“He doesn’t love me,” Harry chokes out. “Can’t tell me anything. He's a fucking _coward_ , and I’m a fucking loser. No one would love an awkward kid with social anxiety.”

“Harry – you’re blowing this out of proportion. Louis left for a couple of days, its not like he's dead. This is nothing major; he just didn’t want to tell you his reasons. You’re overreacting. Please Harry, relax, love.”

A couple of days. More like two weeks.

Harry can see the sense in Nick’s words, that he's being silly, because this is such a meager situation that requires little to no attention, but Harry’s insecurities have completely taken over the situation, because that’s what Harry does – he overreacts, and there's no way to stop him.

Harry’s insecurities have blinded him to think that Louis is the king and Harry is the ground he walks on. He knows that both of them aren’t perfect, but he can’t let go of Louis, he can’t. He’s in far too deep.

“I want to forget about this all, but it hurts too much. Being away from him, him not telling me what’s going on, it just makes me worry.”

“I know, H, I know.”

Harry looks up at Nick, his breaths calming as he meets Nick’s kind, considerate eyes. His head is spinning, he's dizzy and everything is slowly blurring. He just wants to feel loved, just wants someone to take care of him.

He doesn’t know when his and Nick’s lips start moving together, doesn’t know who initiated it, doesn’t know why his hands snake up in to Nick’s hair, doesn’t know why he holds on to him as if he's Harry’s last lifeline, but at the same time, he _does_ know.

He's seeking love and attention, wants someone in his life to care about him in Louis’ absence. Nick is Harry’s last choice to keep him sane, to keep him remotely functioning and healthy. The way he feels about Louis is something sickeningly close to love, and Harry knows this. He knows he loves Louis. He's desperate for affection and emotion and for someone to fucking tell him something for once in his life so that he's not always left in the dark. Then maybe he would grow up and act like the adult he should be. He knows he's using everything that’s happened as an excuse to be needy and clingy, as an excuse so that he doesn’t have to take care of himself.

And that ultimately is Harry’s problem. He refuses to find ways to help himself when he knows that he's got someone there to do it for him. He's completely dependent on others for his happiness, as if he can’t help himself. He's a child, a baby. He refuses to take care of himself because he's not ready to. Louis needs to take of him again.

 _Louis_.

The lips moving against his are thinner, and the taste of the mouth is different. He isn’t kissing Louis.

Harry breaks the desperate kiss, his throat constricted and his heart thumping in the worst possible way.

“I-I…”

“Harry, I’m so sorry. I-just, I, I don’t know how to help you when you get like this, and you just always look like you need love and affection and I just, _god_ , H, I’m sorry.”

“I can’t take care of myself. I’m not ready to.”

“Harry, wha-“

“I’m not ready. I haven’t been ready ever since my dad left. I feel like I was robbed of the years I could be carefree and always have someone to fall back on to. I grew up too fast, and I just _need_ to be taken care of. I’m not ready to look after myself.”

 

Harry is brought back to a time when he sat outside his therapist’s office, fifteen years old with his back against the closed door while his mother had a quick meeting with her. His grubby hands are covered in dried clay and marker slashes after he’d been asked to draw and create things for his therapist. He doesn’t need a therapist – he's not crazy. He's not.

He hates the way he can hear everything that they’re saying, but can’t tear himself away from listening.

“Harry has been robbed of care and affection since his father left. He feels like he has no one to fall back on to when he needs someone, that he has to take care of himself. He misses people caring about him.”

“That’s impossible. I’m always there for him when he needs me. I’m a good mother – I love my son.”

“You’re missing the point, Anne. He loves you very much, he tells me so almost every session, and he doesn’t know what he would do without you. Let me tell you a story that he shared with me that brought me to this conclusion.

“Harry was pushed on the sidewalk one day by a group of boys that were bullying him. He scraped his knee and sprained his wrist. He told me that he was crying, and he was in so much pain that he could barely walk. He got home eventually to come and find you so that you could take care of him – but he found you crying in your bedroom with a picture of your husband in between your fingers. He said to me, in these words exactly, “I realized that my mummy’s pain was much worse than mine, and that it would be rude of me to bother her when my body was sore and her heart was hurting because I made daddy leave. My wrist would heal eventually, but her pain would always somewhat be there.” Harry keeps most of his problems from you because he feels that yours are worse, and that you don’t need to be bothered with his.”

Harry can hear his mother crying, and he wants to rush in and tell her that it’s not true, that she doesn’t need to feel hurt over this, because that’s exactly what Harry was trying to avoid. But then he would get in trouble for eavesdropping, and that might also hurt his mum.

“I remember that day,” Anne whimpers between her tears, “he brought me tea on a tray with biscuits that night. He was carrying it with one hand, and I asked him why. He told me that he was practicing to become a waiter. I didn’t know that his wrist was sprained.”

Harry remembers that night too, deciding that even though his wrist hurt like hell, he could do something, anything, to make his mother feel better. Besides, the nurse gave him a strap-on cast that Harry only wore when his mother wasn’t around, so that she wouldn’t have to worry about it.

 

Harry his brought out of his memories when something jerks his body back and forth, his back slamming painfully in to the behind him.

“Harry!” Nick yells, shaking his body.

Harry blinks, his eyes stinging as he looks up at the kind-eyed boy. He smiles sadly and pulls away from Nick.

“God, I thought you were having some kind of episode there.” Nick breathes a sigh of relief, trying to hide the sting of rejection in his eyes. “Are you okay?”

“’M fine,” Harry replies, kind of spaced out and shocked at the memory, but more hollow than upset at the moment. “I just need someone to take care of me until I’m ready to take care of myself again.”

Nick obviously doesn’t know what Harry means, not up to date on his family troubles and his fucked-up mind, but he just smiles softly and whispers, “I’ll be right back. Don’t move.”

 

~

 

“He what?” Niall’s thick voice booms across Harry’s house, his fists clenching.

“He, he just disappeared!” Nick replies frantically, tugging at his hair and wiping the exhaustion from his eyes. “I told him to stay put and two minutes later he was gone!”

“And you looked for him?” Liam asks in a much kinder tone than Niall’s.

“Bloody everywhere! Bouncers at the door said that they hadn’t seen him walk out, he's not answering his phone, and he wasn’t in the club when we searched! Niall, I’m so sorry-“

“This was bloody well your plan, wasn’t it?” Niall snarls. “You were probably sick of all of his mood swings and moaning, and decided to just let him loose, _drunk_ , where anyone could notice him? Do you understand what you’ve actually done?”

“I think he has a pretty good idea Niall-“

“You let a currently mentally-unstable, intoxicated, heartbroken boy with anxiety run through the streets freely, with a wallet stuffed full of cash that could take him _anywhere_ , namely Doncaster. What happens if he gets to the train station and asks for a train to Devonshire by mistake, because he's fucking _drunk_ , just in case you’ve forgotten, and just takes off and gets lost? What if-“

“I fucking get it, Niall. I get what I’ve done. I’m sorry, okay? He's probably gonna fall asleep in the street somewhere, and the paps will let us know where he is in the morning, okay? He's too tired to walk to the bloody train station and get a train. I promise.”

“You better fucking hope you’re right, Grimshaw. Otherwise Louis is going to slaughter you.”

“He’s already going to anyway,” Nick mumbles under his breath, images of their kiss flashing through his head.

Nick might just have feelings for Harry, maybe, but he's always been attracted to broken things. He met Louis in the prime of his fucked-up days, where he drank and smoked until he couldn’t remember his own name.

Truth be told, Nick doesn’t think Louis is very deserving of Harry, nor quite ready for a serious relationship. Relationships don’t work if _both_ significant others are fucked-up. Simple as that.

Nick and Louis didn’t work because Louis feared the famous “L” word, and Nick knows that Harry would like to use said “L” word on Louis very soon. Truth be told, Harry and Louis are a stunning couple, but polar opposites, the only thing they have in common being the fact that both of them have troubled pasts. Nick would really hate to see their relationship dissipate, but he wouldn’t _not_ try his luck with Harry if that happened.

(He knows Louis will be thoroughly irritated if Harry showed up in Doncaster on his doorstep, probably bloody furious, so he might’ve, maybe, selfishly sent Harry Louis’ home address with a smiley face and locked his phone quickly).

Nick didn’t actually mean for Harry to disappear, and is genuinely worried about him, but he knows that they won’t find him in the bustling city, and that he’ll just have to wait for news. He's worried, but not that worried. He’ll feel it if something goes wrong.

And no, he isn’t going to try and ruin their relationship like a devious stepsister. He’ll calmly watch from the sidelines as it deteriorates, because Louis is afraid of commitment and that’s all that Harry needs. He won’t break them up, but he’ll fix Harry when it happens.

 

~

 

Niall is worried; fucking worried, so worried that he hasn’t a clue what he's going to do with himself, but Liam is next to him, rubbing the tension out of his shoulders and telling him that everything is going to be alright. Niall doesn’t believe it.

He has half a mind to call Louis and explain that Harry might be turning up on his doorstep, but he’ll be worried if he doesn’t, and then Niall will have to explain that he roped Nick in to the whole situation, and that he left Harry alone with Nick, and that on its own will get a train ticket back to London, which wouldn’t be helpful if one of them already has a ticket to Doncaster.

Niall knew this was inevitable, that Harry is too headstrong and too in love with Louis to not at least _try_ to escape, so he sighs loudly and falls asleep with Liam’s fingers digging in to his shoulders and Louis and Harry on his mind.

 

~

 

Harry wakes up in a field.

He opens his eyes, shivering in his clothing, his teeth chattering as he squints in the pale light. His trench coat and vests are barely keeping him warm in the frosty grass. He sits up, lurching forward as his head throbs dismally, and he vomits in between his legs.

He coughs and wipes his mouth, looking up to see a wide expanse of grass and trees, and what looks like a river in the distance. He’s completely and utterly in trouble.

He stands up on shaky legs as he tries to swallow to rid the taste of vomit and hangover from his mouth. He holds a hand to his burning forehead as he tries to survey his surroundings. He doesn’t know where he is, his heart is thrumming way too hard in his chest, his stomach is swirling uncomfortably, and his large, clumsy feet are trying to dodge his sick painted on to the grass.

“Where the hell am I?” He murmurs, trying to recollect his thoughts from the previous night.

His phone is dead in his pocket, and he coughs again, wrapping his arms around himself as he turns around, and comes face to face with a quaint town.

“Shit,” he mutters, stumbling forward and in to the town.

The town is old-style, with beautiful shops and houses. It must be early morning, because there doesn’t seem to be anyone around. The shops are closed, and the few joggers give him strange looks and run faster past him.

He must be looking a mess right now,

He ambles around for a little longer, drinking in the town and trying to calm the nerves inside of him. He’ll be okay. Yeah, he will.

He breathes deeply, before turning to find an old car sputtering towards him. He almost lets it past, his anxiety getting the better of him, before he quickly steps in the road and waves.

“Excuse me!” he yells, and the car stops next to him. “I’m sorry, I’m really lost. Where am I?”

“You’re in Bentley, South Yorkshire,” the older woman replies, a smile on her wrinkling face. “Can I help you?”

“Yes, um, how far is Doncaster from here?”

“The town? Only about two miles from here. Need a lift?” she asks politely, and Harry is sure that she is an angel sent from heaven above.

“Yes, please, please,” he smiles, getting in to the passenger seat and sighing as he's blasted with warmth. “You don’t happen to have a mint on you, do you? Or a car charger?”

Five mints and ten percent battery later, they’re in the town of Doncaster. Harry lets his phone charge as they drive through the waking town, and its pretty gorgeous here, too. Harry checks his notifications with bated breath and guilt thrumming through his veins.

 

_Missed Calls_

_Niall (25)_

_Nick (15)_

_Liam (17)_

_Messages: (32)_

Harry cringes and opts for his messages first, deciding to call the boys later, after he’s seen Louis. He also ignores the texts from Niall and Liam and Rebecca, until he gets to Nick, and the first message he sees is an address.

 

_Lou_ _’s place. :)_

Harry wants to thank Nick a thousand times, but refrains and explains to the lady, Tracy, the address. She smiles and continues driving while Harry tries to remember what the _hell_ happened last night.

He remembers the concert, remembers driving back with Nick and going to club, where it all becomes blurry. He obviously got really drunk, and he can faintly remember the sickening, sad feeling inside of him that he was trying to get away from.

And then he's kissing Nick.

He remembers it, and it’s like a several punches to every inch of his body. He hurts all over, his head, his heart, and his body. He buries his face in his hands and sighs. Tracy gives him a look but says nothing. She’s been amicable enough, asking him about how he got lost and where he's coming from, he just barely remembered the answers to her questions. He’s so thankful for her though, and he tells her so about every minute of the drive.

Harry’s heart stutters when she suddenly pulls in to a driveway, and here he is. He probably looks a mess, but he's here, and Louis is on the other side of that door, and Harry suddenly cannot breathe.

“Thank you so, so much, Tracy,” Harry thanks her again, smiling brightly before exiting the car.

He walks up the paved driveway that winds up to a porch and a two-storey house, and Harry can hear giggling from the inside, and it makes his heart swell. His hand is shaking as he presses the doorbell, and it sounds so loud in the silence outside. Harry listens to the trees rustling, the cars squeaking on the slippery asphalt, and the pad of footsteps growing louder as someone walks to open the door.

The door swings open, and Harry looks down to see a little blonde girl peeking out from behind the large door, still in her pajamas, looking up at him with a weird look.

“Who are you?” she asks, her face scrunched.

“I’m Harry,” he replies quickly, and he hears something shatter inside. “I’m looking for Louis.”

The little girl looks back and calls out “Louis! There's a Harry at the door for you!” before she smiles and opens the door wider for him to step through.

He walks in to the entrance, and the house smells of tea and breakfast and everything Harry would associate with home. He follows the little girl who turns around and says, “I’m Phoebe, by the way, Louis’ sister. C’mon, he's in the kitchen.”

“Pheebs, you can’t just _let_ people in to the house. I didn’t even tell you that you could!” he hears an angelic voice quiver.

It’s a voice that makes him want to scream, cry, and race forward so that he’s enveloped in the sweetness of Louis. He turns the corner and sees him, as if for the first time, his fluffy fringe in his eyes – his beautiful icy eyes that stare at Harry with emotions that he just can’t decipher.

“What are you doing here, Harry?” Louis sounds shocked, and disbelieving, but he also sounds tired, like he expected Harry to come eventually.

Harry can’t even speak, love and guilt and anger clouding his senses as he stares at Louis’ newly acquired stubbly beard and his checkered sweatpants, and a shirt that definitely belongs to Harry.

“I-I…”

And that’s when the aggravating thump in his head and the situation before him become too much to handle and his anxiety takes over. He slumps to the floor, his eyes flickering, as he watches Louis drop a pan that’s crackling with bacon as he rushes forward to catch him.


	19. Short Circuit

It’s a few hours later when Harry’s eyes peel open slowly, the crust formed while he slept falling in to his eyeballs. He's not sure where he is right now, and judging from the darkening world outside the window opposite him, he deduces that its late afternoon.

Everything hurts, from his throbbing head to his weak muscles and aching bones. His mouth is dry and tinged with metal, a mixture of an unpleasant morning-breath and vomit from earlier in the day. It reminds him of waking up in the freezing cold field. He shudders.

He shifts on the couch he's currently lying on, the piece of furniture only able to compensate for half of his gangly limbs as his curved calves hang over the edge. There's a warm blanket thrown over him, and a fire crackling away in the dusty fireplace a few metres away from him. He’s definitely warmer than the first time he woke up today. He turns his head (and would’ve jumped if he had the energy to) and meets two pairs of curious eyes embedded in almost identical faces. They both squint down at him, their eyes peeled and curious. The one on the left cocks her head to the side, as if assessing Harry like a detective would assess a potential suspect.

“Harry doesn’t seem very well. He's all pale,” the one says to the other, and Harry isn’t too sure whether or not he's seeing double right now.

“His eyes are all blurry and confused,” the other replies, playing absent-mindedly with a strand of her thin blonde locks.

“Maybe we should slap him, might wake him up properly.”

“You will do _no such thing_ ,” Harry hears a masculine voice enter the conversation, his heart soaring at the recognizable tone of Louis’ voice. “Now go upstairs for a while, I’ll call you when its okay to come back down. I need to have a private conversation with Harry.”

“But _Lou_ ,” the little girls whine in unison, and Louis must give them a stern glare because he hears the distinct sound of tiny feet thumping against stairs.

“Are you okay?” Louis bends down in front of Harry, running a warm, tanned hand across Harry’s starkly-pallid and sweaty cheek.

_I really don'_ _t want to talk right now, especially to you, but I do at the same time._

Harry doesn’t reply, just closes his eyes and savours the feeling of Louis’ touch. It’s been so long since he’s felt the gentle brush of skin against skin, so long since his stomach has settled in that relaxing way it does when Louis touches him. He lets himself feel this moment, lets himself forget for a second, because he knows that him and Louis need to have a serious conversation soon.

“Can you hear me, Harry? Oh god, what if he can’t hear me?” Louis suddenly panics, talking to himself.

“I can hear you, you twat,” Harry croaks, lifting a shaky hand to wipe the sleep out of his eyes. “Please just bring me some toothpaste.”

When Harry has sufficiently scrubbed the nasty taste from his mouth, (spitting in a bowl on the couch, because Louis wouldn’t let him get up) he lies back and groans incessantly, not sure what to do with himself.

He's tired and in so much pain, and the last thing he feels like doing is talking things out with Louis. Now that he's here, in the safe and reassuring presence of his boyfriend, it doesn’t seem like anything was wrong in the first place, and Harry can almost close his eyes and forget for another twelve hours. Almost.

“Harry, why are you here?” Louis asks in a small voice, un-accusing, just seemingly curious and exhausted.  

Harry turns over on the leather couch, his shoulder digging in to the cushions as he tries to make himself comfortable. He looks at Louis, with his messy fringe flat against his forehead, and pale blue cerulean eyes, _his_ Louis with soft lips and stubble that tickles Harry’s skin when they kiss. God, he wants to kiss Louis so badly.

He’s definitely whipped, and it isn’t healthy.

“Did you not care at all?” he questions instead in a low and weak voice. “Did you not care about what would happen to me if you just up and left?”

Louis makes a strangled noise in the back of his throat and leans forward to push Harry’s fringe back out of his sweaty face. Harry wants to resist his touch, but Louis’ cool palm feels so good against his steamy forehead. “Of course I cared. I care so much about you.”

“Like hell you do, Louis,” Harry snaps, his anger at feeling so lost emerging. “Then why not tell me where you were going? Why not confide in me about whatever emergency it was? That’s what couples do, Louis. I don’t know how much I can stress that anymore.”

Louis retracts his hand, sagging and burying his face in his palms. He's about as ready for this talk as Harry is. Harry patiently waits for Louis to speak again, struggling to keep his eyelids from falling shut again. He manages to keep them open just to stare at his boyfriend – his boyfriend that has given him absolute hell over the past two weeks. His boyfriend that has given him anxiety attacks consistently. His boyfriend who would murder him if he found out he was kissing his enemy.

Harry gulps at the thought, and childishly thinks that Louis deserved his act of infidelity.

He brushes the thought away. Harry is many things, but he isn’t cruel or spiteful. No matter how much Louis has hurt him, he would never wish anything upon him. He’s tired of waiting for Louis to realize that what he’s doing is wrong. Yeah, Harry has told him several times before, but Louis also warned him about this even before they got in to a relationship.

 _“I don'_ _t really know how to do the whole relationship thing._ _”_

And yeah, maybe Harry brought this on himself. Maybe he should’ve waited until Louis was ready. But he can’t find it in himself to pull away, to break the special bond that they have.

He may have done it already if Nick is taken in to account.

It’s not like he wanted to kiss Nick – it’s just that, at that moment, it felt like Louis comforting him. It felt like he was going to burst if he didn’t kiss his Louis. And then someone would have to scrub Harry off of the walls. He would’ve nominated Louis so that he could see the momentous effect that the older boy has on Harry, had he not been in pieces of debris and splattered across the walls of a club bathroom.

He has to remind himself that he is in fact living and in one piece on Louis’ couch.

Louis finally looks up to meet his eyes, and his are glittering and cobalt and torn like a stormy, choppy sea, upset and distraught. Harry gently leans forward to pull Louis’ face towards him. Louis lets him, resting his limp head in the crook of Harry’s neck; his body slumped against the couch. Harry doesn’t kiss him, just looks Louis in the eyes when he pulls back, as if the past few days are playing in the reflections of his eyes. Louis needs to know.

‘I was an absolute mess,” Harry says quietly, deciding to start this first. “Niall and Liam had to keep me housebound so that I wouldn’t come after you. Is that what you wanted? Time away from me?”

“No,” Louis whimpers, shifting closer in to Harry’s body. “I don’t want time away from you. I hate time away from you. It was so hard, Harry. I’m a terrible person for putting you through that, I just – I don’t know how to deal with things.”

 _You can say that again,_ Harry thinks to himself.

“Why didn’t you tell me? Why didn’t you let me come with you so that you could have support?” Harry questions, startled to see Louis in such a fragile state. He leaves his anger for later.

“I didn’t want to face it myself,” Louis whispers, his body deflating more (if that’s even possible).

“Face what?” Harry asks, brushing his fingers through Louis’ fringe.

Louis sits up, pulling his face out from the warm skin of Harry’s neck, and gestures fro him to shift up on the couch. Harry cautiously slithers back against the leather, the material cold where Harry’s body had not lain. This isn’t Harry forgiving Louis, he tells himself. This is Harry doing what he does best – providing comfort in someone’s darkest times. Louis climbs in underneath the blanket, facing Harry, his legs immediately tangling with Harry’s thighs. Harry lets him.

He finds it adorable how only his feet poke out from the blanket, while Harry’s legs fall over the side of the couch.

“I missed you,” Louis mumbles ever so lightly, wrapping his arms around Harry and pulling him closer to his chest. Harry doesn’t move, and Louis goes rigid when he notices this. “Missed this.”

“I’m really angry at you,” Harry says in the harshest tone he can manage. “Like, seriously angry. You can ask Niall. I was massive trouble.”

“Didn’t your mother ever teach you to be polite, Harry?” Louis tries to joke weakly, and it just sounds deflated and sad. Harry fights himself, but doesn’t pull Louis closer. _This won_ _’t work unless Louis opens up._

“Didn’t your mother ever teach you not to run away?” Harry says vehemently, harsher than he intended.

Louis squeaks, literally _fucking_ squeaks and buries himself in to Harry’s chest, sobbing deliriously in to the fabric of his day-old shirt. Harry probably smells terrible, but Louis doesn’t seem to mind – gripping Harry fervently and holding on as if Harry is the last piece of rope on a rock-face, and Louis is dangerously close to falling in to the abyss below.

Harry wonders when they changed places as he holds Louis tightly. He wonders when, in the past day, it became about him caring about Louis and not the other way around. Harry can’t look after himself; he knows this, he’s proved it in the past two weeks. A strong part of him wishes that he were the one being coddled as he cried. There’s another part of him, one that’s never present unless Louis is around, and it’s a part that wants to make sure Louis is taken care of – wants to pull Louis close and feel his petite body against his lanky one, wants to comfort him when he cries and buy him pretty things when he's sad. He’s sure it’s more about seeing Louis happy than anything else. He wishes Louis felt and did the same for him.

He feels Louis shift; his sobs reduced to sniffles and he looks up at Harry. His eyes are red-rimmed, lifeless and brimming with unshed tears. It’s the aftermath of the storm, and Harry can literally see Louis rebuilding the wall inside of him that conceals his emotions and true feelings. He can see Louis’ sarcastic façade weaving back together after being ripped apart like a fragile cloth. Harry hopes he can just stay vulnerable for a few more minutes.

“My mum has HIV, Haz,” Louis says softly, his voice feather-light for such heavy news.

Harry recalls one of the first encounters he had with Louis, cup shaking in his jittery hands as he sniffles while placing Harry’s drink on the table. He wouldn’t convey much, just that his mother was sick and that it was taking a huge toll on his family. Harry feels tears prick his eyes and he's suddenly very angry again. Not just at Louis – but the world, too.

“It’s just HIV, it hasn’t developed in to AIDS just yet. She got it from her ex-boyfriend. He never told her he had it, Haz. He used to fly around the entire world with all his cash, and sleep with prostitutes just because he could. He doesn’t even know where he got it from because he slept with so many people! He's such a fucking wanker, I was so, so angry. I found him and busted his face in when she told me. I almost freaking _killed_ him. He deserves to die, Harry. I wish he did.”

“When did all this happen, Lou?” Harry asks, his eyes leaking tears that silently slide down his face.

“A year before I went to London on scholarship. He was such an arse to me. My real dad fucked off years ago, and my mum got remarried before he cheated on her, and they got divorced, too. She was having such shitty luck with men, and I hated them all, but she never listened to me. I _hated_ her choice in men, Harry. Despised every single man she brought home.

“And then she brought home this plastic surgeon, who earned so much money he was rolling in it. He already had HIV when he met her, but didn’t say anything about it. Obviously they fucked and whatever the hell else, and he told her one night when they were fighting, just like that. He just spewed it out like, “ _Sorry for you, Jay. But I have HIV. It_ _’s what you get for being such a shitty girlfriend_.” And then he just left.”

Harry can picture a younger Louis, eyes bright with concern as he listens to the riot downstairs from the banisters of the stairs. He can see Louis tucking his sisters back in to bed, kissing their foreheads and telling them that everything was going to be okay.

“I can’t believe it,” Harry says, his voice barely above a breath of wind, “I can’t believe how fucking terrible he was.”

“Neither could I. I found my mum crying and mumbling about phoning a doctor. Sure enough, she had HIV. She has to take these mounds of pills every day and has to be so careful about how she lives. She can’t get sick – because if she does, she might die. She might die from a fucking cold if the HIV turns in to AIDS, Harry. Just because her body can’t handle any bad bacteria or virus. I refused to go to London and leave her to take care of four kids, Harry. She told me that I couldn’t miss out on my dream just because she was ill. I eventually just up and left.”

Harry can’t believe his ears. It’s so, completely unfair that Louis has had to endure so much in his life. Harry’s life was really hard, yes, but he has a healthy mother and father and a stable family, whereas Louis has a terminally-ill mother and no father figure in his life. Harry’s family weighs out Louis’ mental issues.

Okay, maybe they're both broken up inside – maybe they destroy each other. But they build each other up, too. In the moments like these, where they need each other, Harry can’t pull away. It wouldn’t be fair. Not after everything that’s happened tonight. He imagines himself in Louis’ situation, being held by a boyfriend who had the intention of stopping things as soon as he stopped crying. He couldn’t do it to Louis.

He hates it, because he knows that he doesn’t want to leave Louis. He knows what happens when Louis isn’t around. He would live, slowly build himself back up and move on – but something tells him that the cerulean eyes and the cheeky smile would serve as a memory in his head forever.

No, Harry would make this work, for now. He would call Louis out later, because right now, his love needs him.

Harry presses his face close to Louis’, their noses brushing as he kisses over the older boy’s salty tears. His head is still pounding, and his body aches with every movement, but Louis is more broken than him in this moment. Harry often wonders if he is the reason that Louis is like this, if he's the reason that Louis has become so broken up inside. He knows that one should be careful when helping a broken person, because you can cut yourself on the edge of their shards. Harry wonders if he's slit Louis with his own shards.

“I’m so sorry, Lou. No words can express how sorry I am. No one deserves anything like this in life, and I’m so sorry it happened to you and your mum and your family. You don’t deserve any of this, any of you. I’m here for you, love. I’m here for you every second you need me, every lonely hour you can’t handle reality. You and I, we’ll go somewhere that’s ours, whether its just us underneath the covers of my bed or in our coffee shop. We’ll escape reality together. I promise I’ll do anything I can to help you.”

Harry finds himself in a moment of déjà vu, where he's pledging himself to taking care of others, ignoring the voice in his head telling him that it’s a bad idea, that he’ll combust because he needs someone to be taking care of him, that he's not strong enough to be a caring figure in someone’s life. He pushes the thoughts away as he watches Louis’ eyes clear of the shrouds of heartbreak, disappointment and melancholy, lighting up the way a forest does when morning sun peaks through the gaps in the trees. It’s remarkable, watching someone come to life because of simple promises when they were so dormant before.

“It’s not all about me. We both have our fair share of problems, and I’ll try to be there for you, Harry. I’ll try. I can’t promise, but I’ll try my best. I care about you so much, Harry. I really do. I don’t know what I would do without you.” Louis’ words ring in Harry’s ear, not a promise, but certainly two steps forward from where they were two weeks ago. “I’m sorry for what I did to you. I truly am, it was wrong. I don’t know how to act in these type of relationships, but ill learn. I’ll try. Because damn it if you aren’t the best thing that’s ever happened to me.”

Harry finds the words _I love you_ pushing against his closed lips, but he widens his eyes and his tongue pushes them back to where they came from. Instead, he kisses Louis.

He kisses Louis in a way that makes up for the two weeks where they were apart, two idiots unable to find their way back to each other. Harry savours every peck, every slide of the lips, and every flick of the tongue as they kiss. He kisses Louis fervently, in a way that completely erases the trace of Nick from his body. Harry’s hands grip the back of Louis’ shirt, the material crumpling in his tight fist. His lips move in between Louis’, small wet noises escaping. Louis’ fingers are gripping at Harry’s curls, pulling them in the way that Harry loves the most, not to hard, but just enough to elicit a beautiful moan from between Harry’s lips.

Harry tastes salt, and in this moment, _Harry_ is the moon and _Louis_ is the sea, and it’s currently a full moon, and the sea is turbulent and roaring, choppy waves glittering in the evanescent moonlight. Louis is tied to Harry like the oceans current are tied to the silvery light in the night sky.

“I missed you,” Harry gasps against his lips, “I miss you so much. I’m still so _fucking_ angry, but I missed you.”

“I know,” Louis murmurs, “I’ll make it up to you. ‘M sorry.”

“Left me all by myself,” Harry continues, words slurred and lips slipping against each other’s. “Was so sad, angry, and anxious about you. Thought you didn’t want me anymore.”

“I’ll always want you, Harry. Always,” Louis replies, his kisses hard and firm and reassuring. “Needed you so badly these past few weeks.”

“I needed you so much,” it comes out much more broken, and Louis pulls away, staring in to Harry’s eyes with his own that are filled with remorse and regret. Harry can see how much Louis hates himself for it.

“I’m sorry Harry. I’m so sorry.”

Harry can’t stop himself. “I needed you with me. I had anxiety attacks and phases where I was so angry or where I wouldn’t talk or eat. I don’t know what you’ve done to me, Louis Tomlinson, but I can’t look after myself without knowing you’re okay. You’ve done some awful things to me.”

“I couldn’t sleep without knowing you were okay,” Louis whispers in a rare moment of confiding his feelings. “I had to phone Niall every night after you’d gone to bed. He told me not to worry – that you were fine. But you weren’t, were you?”

“No,” Harry breathes, “No, I wasn’t. I’m not- I need someone to depend on. I’m not able to take care of myself properly. I was until I got a taste of someone taking care of me, and its like I can’t function anymore. ‘M too dependable.”

“What do you mean?” Louis enquires lightly, tracing nonsensical patterns on Harry’s soft cheek, rosy from the warm fire and snuggly blanket.

Harry sighs and wonders if he should relay the story of his therapist and his mother. He’s not sure if the problem will make Louis close up, or if his new ideology towards trying comes in to play here. He decides that maybe now is the perfect time, before they relax and he closes up completely. Now’s the time to test him.

So he relays the entre story, just like it played out in his head. He doesn’t look Louis in the eye, doesn’t mention that Nick was there, because that would mean watching his emotions chop and change, and watching to see if he builds his wall up against his emotional problems. He breathes out a sigh when he's finished, and looks up to Louis’ face, still not meeting his eyes.

“Shit Harry, I’m-I’m sorry.”

_There it is._

Louis’ go-to saying whenever Harry confides in him is resounding in his head, bumping back as forth and echoing as if to rub it in. Harry’s heart kind of cracks a little, but he just puts a weak smile on his face and tells Louis that it’s okay. It really isn’t, but what else is he supposed to say?

Louis is supposed to hold him close, kiss him and tell him that he's there for him, that he’ll take care of him, that he’ll try his best to help or come up with a solution for Harry’s problem. They even teach this stuff at school: identify the problem, find or create a suitable solution.

Harry didn’t realize before that it applies to people too. Apparently, Louis hasn’t realized it yet, either.

Harry is the type of person that needs to talk about his problems, but is forced to settle with meager pity and an apology. He thinks that he's going to burst one day.

 _Maybe now_ _’s the time to let go._

Louis must notice a change in Harry’s demeanor, because he cups Harry’s face and kisses his lips swiftly and softly. “I’m here, baby. I’m not going anywhere anymore. I’ll take care of you if you need me to. I told you I’d try, and I will. I promise.”

Harry’s heart swells with hope and he thinks that maybe this is rock bottom, and that they can only go up from here.  

“This is the last fucking chance I’m taking on you, Tomlinson, you hear me? ‘Cause this emotional trauma practically ensures a heart attack at thirty two or something,” Harry tries to make light of the situation, but the truth behind his words are there.

“I’m sorry Harry. I won’t let you down.”

Harry hasn’t fully forgiven Louis yet, but he’s willing to give him another chance.

“Can we come down yet, Lou?” a little voice calls from upstairs.

They both crane their necks to see the twins with their heads poked through the gaps in the wooden banisters, small, hopeful smiles adorning their little faces. Harry feels slightly better, with his head clearing up and one of his problems solved. It seems like there will always be one unsolved problem though: Harry’s terrible need to be comforted and Louis’s inability to provide said care.

“Yeah, come meet Harry officially, girls,” Louis smiles thinly, and Harry joins him when they bundle down the stairs together.

They stop in front of the couch, before launching on top of the two boys and scrambling up their bodies until they're seated firmly on their chests.

“I’m Phoebe,” says the little girl on Harry’s chest, smiling shyly. “I spoke to you earlier. Let you in the door. Not sure if you remember with your fall and all.”

“I do,” Harry grins lopsidedly, reaching up to tickle her petite body.

“And I’m Daisy,” the other twin interrupts, jealous of the attention that her sister is getting.

“That’s a lovely name. You’re named after your grandmother then?” Harry asks, and Daisy smiles proudly in response.

“Well, you’re both very beautiful,” Harry compliments, and they giggle and hide behind their soft blonde hair.

“It’s illegal to do anything with little girls, Harry, or have you forgotten?” Louis teases him, flicking his nose.

“Hush you, I’m still mad at you.”

“Why is Harry mad at you?” Daisy asks Louis, poking his cheek as she bounces on his chest. “Did you do something wrong?”

“I was a bit naughty and left to come visit without telling him,” Louis says, and the girl gasps as if he's told them that he's murdered someone.

“And because he's a terrible person,” Harry adds.

“That’s not fair, Lou! That’s like mum going to the shops for _hours_ and not telling us, and leaving us all alone!”

“Exactly, Louis. Take note,” Harry gives him a knowing look, and Louis just rolls his eyes.

“You have such nice hair, its like a princess’ hair,” Phoebe says, gripping the curls and pulling, then watching them bounce back in to place with glee. “Can we play with it?”

“Maybe later girls,” Louis says, “Harry’s still feeling a bit sick.”

“But its bad to kiss people when you’re sick. Loubear, you’ll get sick now too!”

Louis sends the girls to play upstairs with a huge grin on his face.

“You hear that, _Loubear_? You’ll get sick now.”

“Shut up, _Princess_.”

 

~

 

It’s a little while later that Harry meets the other three females that make up the rest of his family. He’s still on the couch, fresh from a steaming shower and clothed in Louis’ sweatpants and jumper, and extra long socks so that they cover the expanse of skin between Louis’ short pants and Harry’s ankles. He’s seated upright now with a cup of steaming tea in his hands, Louis by his side and the twins asleep on pillows by the fire. The boys lie back against the couch and Louis puts his tiny feet in Harry’s lap, and Harry runs a reassuring hand up and down Louis’ clothed calve, kneading the tight muscle and they chat amicably. It feels nice to be here, Louis by his side and twins sleeping soundly. It feels a lot like having his own little family. Harry refuses to acknowledge the idea though. Not when he's still not sure how he feels about forgiving and forgetting.

Louis has been attentive ever since him and Harry spoke. He’s been affectionate and making sure all of Harry’s needs are taken care of. Harry isn’t sure how he feels about it. He ignores the warmth pooling in his stomach, because he needs to see this out. See if Louis’ promise is a one-time thing.

Louis is carding his fingers through Harry’s curls, pulling and tugging the knots out like a makeshift hairbrush. He leans back in to the touch, listening to Louis talk.

He loves listening to Louis talk, loves hearing the way his angelic voice forms words and sentences, loves watching the way his lips move to form every word. It feels like a privilege to be so close to Louis, to be able to observe such a perfect person so close up. Harry can’t help himself as he leans forward and pecks Louis, swallowing up the rest of his sentence.

“I’m gonna get a hard-on so easily if you don’t stop being irresistible,” Louis groans, pulling away from Harry like it takes a lot of effort.

Harry does the only thing he knows how – he throws his anger in to anything sex-related.

“I’d wrap my lips around your pretty cock and suck you so hard you’d come all over my f-“

“Lou? Are you home?” Harry hears an unfamiliar voice call from the entrance.

Harry turns completely beet-red, his ears even tinged with blush. Louis bursts out laughing, and its obnoxious enough to make the twins stir, but he’s also embarrassed as his mother walks through the door, two younger girls in tow.

They turn in to the living room entrance and stop and observe the scene in front of them: Louis with his body inched impossibly close to a strange boy, their tea spilling and their faces crimson.

“Who’s this?” the oldest woman questions, undoubtedly Louis’ mother, in a gentle, intrigued voice.

“I’m Harry, Harry Styles ma’am, I’m-“

“He's a friend of mine from London,” Louis says quickly, smiling at his mother. “Came to visit me ‘cause I left without telling him.”

“That’s rude,” the blonde girl behind his mother snorts, before her eyes widen as she drinks Harry in. “You’re _the_ Harry Styles, aren’t you? The indie singer? I didn’t believe Louis when he told me!”

“Its nice to meet you…”

“Lottie, and this is Felicity and my mum, Jay,” Lottie introduces them all quickly, barely letting them get a word it. “I’ve got like, all of your songs.”

“Lottie, please refrain from melting in to a Harry-induced puddle on the floor. He's really not that great. Got a bit of a deficiency in _that_ department, if you know what I mean…”

Harry squeaks and hides his face in Louis’ neck, feeling his chest vibrate with laughter. Lottie splutters and walks wordlessly in to the kitchen, mumbling excitedly under her breath. Jay scolds her son and shoves him off the couch and on to the floor, kicking him lightly in his sides.

“This is abuse,” Louis yells over-exaggeratedly.

“If you’re going to behave like a dog then you can be treated like one. Dogs aren’t allowed on the furniture.”

“But mum, where am I going to sleep?”

“Outside on the grass, where you belong.”

“You wound me, mother.”

“You wound me with how much of my life you’re wasting by having this conversation with me.”

Harry now knows where Louis gets his sass.

Harry laughs despite himself, and Louis pouts up at him from the floor, and Harry has to resist giving him a kiss. Harry stands up to give Jay a proper greeting, shaking her hand with a weary smile because _this is Louis_ _’ mum_ and he has to make a good first impression. Harry doesn’t say anything about their relationship, because Louis introduced him as his _friend_ , and he’ll have to talk to him about that later. Harry accepts his decision though. He knows what it feels like to be rooted to the floor of the metaphorical closet. He’d been there too.

“You seem like a charming boy, Harry. Maybe Louis could learn a thing or two,” Jay tutts, sticking her tongue out at her oldest child.

“Didn’t your mother ever teach you its rude to stick your tongue out?” Louis sasses, standing up and wrapping his arms around his mum. “It’s okay. I forgive you, mum. Love you lots. I know I’m your favourite kid and that I’m perfect, and that you’re rude to me because otherwise it would be too obvious and everyone else would get jealous.”

“Yeah, that’s why I sass you,” Jay mutters, rolling her eyes and kissing her son’s feathered hair. She turns to Harry. “Are you staying for dinner, love? I know it’s late, I’m sorry. The girls and I went out shopping and it took much longer than we thought.”

“Actually, I-“

“Harry’s staying over for a few days, is that okay?” Louis asks, his eyes pleading.

Harry’s eyes go wide. He was planning on catching the last train back to London. It feels so strange how he wants to distance himself to think, when mere days ago he was a withering mess because he wasn’t near Louis. He doesn’t decline Louis’ statement in fear of becoming said mess again.

“I don’t have anywhere for him to sleep,” Jay says, “Unless you’ll be a gentleman take the couch.”

“Nonsense,” Louis retorts, “my back is far too sensitive. He can just stay with me. We’ll divide the bed with my pillows and all that.”

“And your secret stash of teddies,” Harry chimes in.

“How did you know about those?” Louis gasps, looking aghast. “Captain McFurry is hidden far away in my closet.”

 _Just like you, apparently,_ Harry thinks to himself.

Jay watches the two with an amused smirk before tapping Louis on the bum and gesturing for him to help with the grocery bags. Harry rushes forward before Louis can react, picking them up easily and following Jay in to the small kitchen.

“Thank you, Harry,” she smiles as he unpacks them in to the fridge. “Unpacking isn’t necessary.”

“It’s no trouble ma’am,” Harry replies earnestly, “Would you like some help cooking dinner?”

“He’s an amazing cook,” Louis chimes in from the kitchen barstool.

“That would be wonderful, Harry. Please, call me Jay.”

“Alright Jay, where should I start?”

 

 

Louis watches his boyfriend and his mother cook away, and his heart thumps appreciatively when his mother has to put on gloves (in case she cuts herself and her blood gets anywhere near the food) and Harry follows suit like it’s a normal thing he does all the time – cooking with gloves. Jay gives him a lively grin and Louis gazes as they converse easily, over Louis of all things.

“He’s really messy,” Harry laughs and Jay nods her head knowingly.

“Doesn’t he live with Niall?”

“Yeah, but he stays over at my place a lot.”

“Oh.”

Louis needs to chime in.

“Harry helps me with my English writing stuff. It’s nice to get a torn-up indie singer with emotional problems to help. He’s hopelessly heartbroken ninety-nine percent of the time.”

“ _Hey_ ,” Harry moans.

Louis doesn’t forget, or mention, that the first and last time Harry helped him ended in come splattered across the pages and blurring the ink.

Louis doesn’t chime in much after that, just watching his boyfriend and his mother with a dreamy smile on his face and thoughts about actually telling her about who Harry _really_ is floating about in his head.

He doesn’t miss that his sister has a similar, hopelessly-dreamy expression on her face, her big blue eyes that she shares with Louis gazing hopelessly at the curly-haired beauty currently laughing with his dimples out and a loud bellow. It’s Louis’ favourite laugh of Harry’s, the uncalculated, uncensored one that leaves his cheeks red and his hand covering his mouth in embarrassment.

Louis feels awful about what he did to Harry. Watching Harry become so torn up about him broke his heart. He could already hear the words “ _we_ _’re not going to work anymore, Lou_ ” come from Harry’s mouth, and he was ready to scold himself for fucking up another good thing in his life.

But Harold, being the sweet and caring person he is, gave Louis another chance. And for what? Louis has been nothing but shitty to him, been nothing but an asshole. He doesn’t deserve Harry. Harry’s an angel and Louis is nothing. He should pull away – should allow Harry to find someone else, but he can’t. He’s too selfish.

He vows to himself right then and there, watching his mother and Harry laugh, eyes pinched and mouths wide, that he won’t fuck up his last chance with Harry. He won’t fuck up the one thing in life that makes him happy.

 

Eventually, dinner is served, and the twins are woken up yet again, grumpy as ever as they sit sleepily at the dining room table. Jay sits at the head, Lottie and Felicity on either side of her, and Phoebe insisted earlier on Harry sitting next to her, so Louis is currently tickling Daisy who slaps him away diligently and tells him to “Get a life.”

“Got a mouth on this one, mum,” Louis snorts, flicking Daisy’s nose. “Better watch out she doesn’t turn in to a potty-mouth like me.”

Louis loves how easily Harry fits in to his family. He's eager to listen to all of his sister’s stories, and spoon-feeds Phoebe even though she’s almost seven and can eat perfectly well on her own. Harry shares some stories of his own, little ones about performing and songwriting, and Lottie is basically drooling over him.

“Its all been pretty great so far,” Harry continues, stabbing his chicken, “I’m on tour from Feb for about four months or so.”

_Tour?_

Louis heart drops. He hasn’t heard Harry speak about going on tour – and for four months? The two could barely spend two weeks apart without Harry breaking down and Louis missing his cuddles every night, so much so that he never received more than five hours of sleep. How are they supposed to last four months apart?

Louis is kind of angry that Harry didn’t tell him – but mostly, he's really worried about what will happen to them and their already-fragile relationship.

He’s still trying to find ways that he can make up for deserting Harry, but now it seems like he doesn’t need to, because Harry was keeping a big secret too. It’s not like he has to justify himself anymore.

And no – that isn’t fair. What he did to Harry was far worse than this. It just slipped Harry’s mind. Right?

He feels a kick under the table, and he meets Harry’s eyes that silently ask, “are you okay?” Louis just nods and returns to stuffing his vegetables first so that he can savour the good food. He makes a massive mental note with bold script to ask Harry about the tour later.

“I’m tired,” Phoebe yawns, and Daisy agrees with a nod.

“I’ll take them up,” Harry offers, and Louis stands up at the same time as Lottie and says, “I’ll help.”

Louis gives his sister a stern glare and picks up Daisy, mimicking Harry who now has Phoebe in his arms, and the two climb the stairs together.

Louis’ house isn’t big; its quite small compared to the rest of his mates’ houses, with a living room connected to the dining room, a decent sized kitchen, and an upstairs that has three rooms, one for his mum, one for the twins, and one for the older girls.

Louis was lucky to score the basement, a door leading down from underneath the stairs, and he had felt like Harry Potter for most of his life, but the basement was spacious and resembled a studio rather than a closet.

He walks along the familiar carpet that’s stained with years of memories and woven with the many tears that have fallen in the Tomlinson household. The twins’ room is completely pink, with two separate single beds covered in princess sheets and pink fluffy blankets. Louis turns on the heater and the pink fairy lights that shine on them while they sleep. They put the girls in their respective beds and watch as they shuffle about tiredly.

“Harry, please sing for us. Lottie said that you could sing,” Daisy asks as Louis kisses her forehead.

“What would you like me to sing?” Harry questions softly.

“That Ed Sheeran song that Louis always used to sing,” she replies, a yawn taking over her features. “That one about the leaves.”

Harry knows Autumn Leaves far too well, and Louis knows this because it’s on one of Harry’s many playlists, but this one is simply named “Quiet” with the little pill emoji. That playlist still kind of scares Louis, because he doesn’t know when Harry plays said playlist, but judging by its name and respective emoji, it’s not a playlist for happy days.

“ _Another day, another life, passes by just like mine its not complicated_ ,” he starts, and Louis stands back and watches, mesmerized and strangely turned on by watching Harry and the way he's so gentle with kids. “ _Another mind, another soul, another body to grow old its not complicated._ ”

Harry’s voice is so soft and angelic as it travels across the small room, masking the sound of clinking plates and cutlery scraping scraps in to the bin. Harry turns around and moves slowly away from Phoebe’s bed, coming to stand at Louis’ side, warming him instantly. Harry wraps his arm around Louis’ waist and pulls him close, pressing a lingering kiss to his soft hair. Louis melts in to Harry’s side, leaning his head on Harry’s shoulder.

“ _Do you ever wonder if the start shine out for you?_ ”

Louis can’t help but sing along softly. His voice doesn’t, and will never, match Harry’s, that much he knows, but it seems like such an intimate moment that could be ripped apart in a second. Louis wishes he could capture it and place it in a special box somewhere, and remember the way Harry’s lips looked forming the lyrics and the way his eyes shone when Louis sang along.

“ _Float down, like autumn leaves, and hush now, close your eyes and fall asleep. And you_ _’re miles away, and yesterday, you were here with me._ ”They sing together, soft and pure as Louis’ higher, lighter voice mixes with Harry’s clearer, deeper voice. It’s perfect.

The two carefully tiptoe out of the room, shutting the door without so much as a little creak and click, and Harry is looking at Louis with stars in his eyes that could challenge the galaxy and Milky Way.

“You sing beautifully,” Harry murmurs, brushing a thumb across Louis’ blushing cheek, coming down to trace over his beautifully plump lips.

It’s all so domestic to Louis; the way they put the kids to sleep, whispering and tiptoeing out so that they don’t wake them up. Sure, Louis sang Autumn Leaves for the girls whenever he was home visiting, and every night before he had left for London, but he always did it alone and his voice didn’t sound nearly as amazing as Harry’s.

Not only is it domestic, but very dangerous. Because domestic means a large amount of commitment.

“Please, coming from you,” Louis scoffs, refusing to accept the compliment and turning away. “C’mon, lets go to my room.”

 

~

 

Louis leads Harry downstairs, where the table has been cleared and the rest of his family is resting on the couches by the crackling fireplace, tired after an impossibly long day at the mall and several shopping bags weighing them down.

“Buy anything for me?” Louis wiggles his eyebrows, eyeing the unpacked shopping bags that are abandoned by the staircase.

“You know we didn’t,” Felicity snips, and Jay shoots her a warning glare before smiling at Louis. “Sorry love. Maybe next time.”

“You know I’m kidding, it’s okay,” Louis grins with sad eyes, and Harry has no doubt that their funds are strained because of Jay’s medication. “I think Harry and I are gonna retire for tonight, watch some TV downstairs and stuff. Goodnight everyone.”

“Nonsense, Lou,” Jay snorts, stopping them in their tracks. “Come sit for a bit. Let’s all have a chat.”

Harry knows that the groan that comes from Louis’ throat is because Louis was planning to passionately make out with Harry until three in the morning, but his mother has cut his romantic escapade short. Harry just smiles and comes to sit on the only available spot – next to Lottie.

Lottie looks absolutely ecstatic that Harry’s sitting next to her, biting her lip and failing miserably to conceal her smile. Harry curls up to the armrest, as far away from Lottie as possible. Harry feels uncomfortable with his boyfriend’s younger sister ogling him.

“Oi, Lottie, up and on the floor, ‘m the oldest,” Louis quips, and Lottie makes a shocked noise of disbelief before looking at her mother with wide, irritated eyes.

“He is the oldest in the house,” Jay shrugs, and Lottie gasps before throwing Louis a glare that is fit to kill as she takes up a place on the carpet beside the fire.

“Why not kick Fizzie off her chair?” Lottie bitches petulantly, crossing her arms.

She must realize at some point that Harry’s in the room, so she uncrosses her arms quickly and wipes the bitchy look off of her face, sighing and standing up.

“Because I want to sit next to Harry, he's my friend,” Louis raises an eyebrow, a smirk dazzling on his lips.

“There’s enough Harry to go around,” Harry jokes, but Louis comes to sit next to him and pinch his leg, mumbling, “mine”, just loud enough for Harry to hear.

“Arsehole,” Lottie witticisms from the floor.

Louis snorts and blows his sister a kiss, and Harry’s sure that World War Three is going to break out between the sassy, cocky brother and the fuming, lovestruck sister.

“So, Harry love, how long have you known Louis?” Jay asks, curled up with a cup of steaming tea warming her stiff fingers.

“Um, a couple of months now,” Harry replies easily, biting at the sleeve of Louis’ jumper out of habit. “Don’t even know why I keep him around to be honest.”

Louis gives him a look from the other end of the couch, one that’s snarky and says, “who else is going to blow you?” and Harry laughs when Louis mutters, “Bloody wanker.”

“Rude,” Harry retorts, leaning over and flicking Louis’ ear.

“Do you see this, mum? Do you see what I have to put up with? It’s abuse,” Louis rolls his eyes, sending Harry a little wink that no one else sees.

Harry’s insides warm up and he bites on the inside of his cheek, watching the light of the fire flicker on Louis’ face, tanner embers on his already-dark skin. His eyes are brighter, happier like this, surrounded by his family. Harry knows how important Louis’ family is to him, but experiencing it firsthand shows Harry exactly _how much_ they mean to him. It’s almost like they're a perfect little family, and its easy to forget that there's an ailment looming over their heads like persistent clouds promising a treacherous storm. It’s times like these that make Harry miss his own family.

Louis turns to look at him, and as emerald eyes meet sapphire, the air is knocked out of Harry, and he's suddenly breathless and overcome with a sense of adoration and belonging. He knows already that he has a place in this family, and as Louis sends a soft, half-smile his way that just says, “alright?” Harry’s eyes sting with happy tears. He's relieved, partly because he has his Louis back with him, and partly because the pressure of Louis’ family accepting him, although terribly daunting, is finally lifted from his chest. Even though they didn’t seem to have a clue that they were meeting Louis’ boyfriend, Harry knows that there is an air of approval from Jay.

Harry finds it in himself to forgive Louis a little more after seeing his reasoning.

Louis sighs and breaks their loving gaze, yawning and surprising Harry by lying down and resting his head in Harry’s crossed legs. Harry immediately grabs hold of Louis’ hair, carding his nimble fingers through the always-soft locks that are just brushing the bottom of his earlobes. Harry doesn’t look up at Jay, just continues to listen to Felicity’s story about a boy from school, and laughing at Louis’ side comments.

“He just wants her for her boobs,” Louis utters under his breath, and Harry snorts so loudly that three heads turn to him.

“Want to share the joke, boys?” Jay asks sweetly.

“No no, we’re good thanks mum,” Louis glints at his mother, and she rolls his eyes.

“Harry,” Lottie interrupts them, and Harry ignores Louis’ smirk that’s looking up at him, “Do you have a girlfriend? I saw something in the news about you and Cara? The Victoria’s Secret model?” 

It’s Louis’ turn to snivel now, but his is much softer and only Harry hears it. “We’re very good friends as of right now.”

It’s true – Harry has been good friends with Cara for a while now; and he suspects that Rebecca has started feeding the press lies about his love life.

“So no girlfriend?”

“Not right now, no, love.”

Louis whines softly and rolls around in Harry’s lap, visibly upset at Harry’s choice of pet name for his sister.

“Okay, well, we’re terribly tired, so we’re gonna head down now. Goodnight,” Louis suddenly sits up, brushing off lint that Harry can’t see, and the two bid their goodnights before they make their way to the door leading to the Louis’ room.

“Oh look, Harry’s returning to his childhood bedroom beneath the stairs,” Louis remarks, and Harry rolls his eyes before opening the door.

They walk down a few dark steps, Harry almost tripping with his clumsy feet, and the darkness opens up to a spacious room that looks positively gorgeous.

The floor is carpeted, warm and fluffy, and Harry takes off his shoes so that he can dig his toes in to it. There’s a large television standing on a table a little further away from his bed. It’s king-sized, covered in fluffy white bedding that reminds Harry of home. There are two small couches surrounding the television, worn-out but homely. There are Christmas lights hanging above the bed, illuminating Louis’ pin board with hundreds of photos of a younger Louis and his family and friends. It’s not very boyish, and Harry was kind of expecting footie posters and stacks of secretly stashed porno magazines, but there isn’t any of that.

Louis grabs a change of clothes and disappears behind a door that Harry is sure is the bathroom. He sighs and lies down on the bed, smiling and climbing under the covers. It’s warm and safe, and Harry thinks that the day has turned out pretty well.

Louis joins him quick enough, and Harry immediately pulls his body towards his, pressing their lips together in a torrid, passionate kiss. It’s all teeth and tongue and roaming hands, and Harry cups Louis’ arse and pulls him flush against him, rutting their crotches together beautifully. Harry didn’t know he was this needy for Louis, this desperate for friction.

“Mine. Think you’re smug by calling my sister love? Want me to tell her how you love sucking my cock instead?” Louis says, licking a stripe behind Harry’s ear.

Harry moans properly at that, his pants tightening and his hands kneading the gorgeous mounds of Louis’ perfect arse.

Somehow they both end up shirtless, fingers roaming and nipping at nipples and eliciting breathless moans from each other’s mouths.

When Louis’ fingers slip underneath the sweatpants clad to his bony hips, Harry pulls away with a sigh and a string of saliva between the two that Louis laps up seductively. It should be gross, but it’s just fucking _irresistible_.

“Not while your _mum_ is here,” Harry gasps, giggly. “Maybe when we’re alone. But as much as I want to – I’m really tired, love.”

“What time did you catch the train?” Louis asks, kissing the tip of Harry’s nose. He keeps quietly rutting against Harry, their crotches aligning and sending sparks through Harry that’s he's missed thoroughly.

“I can’t remember,” Harry admits, his words breathy.

“How could you not?”

“I woke up in a field this morning.”

“ _What_?” Louis stops grinding against Harry, looking down at him with quizzical eyes.

“I guess I was kind of drunk last night and came over here because I wasn’t thinking. Obviously I was drunk enough to fall asleep in a field,” Harry says rather shyly.

Louis bursts out laughing.

“My god, you are something else, Styles.”

And watching Louis laugh again, watching his eyes twinkle and his face scrunch up adorably, his heart swells because he's _missed_ this. He's missed feeling carefree and happy with Louis around, and he loves the way Louis looks right now. So much so that he might be able to overlook his morals for a second or two.

“Want me to take care of that?” Harry asks, brushing his fingers over Louis’ cock, thick and pressing through the fabric of his warm sweatpants, outlined perfectly against the fabric. Harry brushes his thumb over Louis’ visible head, watching the material darken with wetness.

“Thought you were tired?” Louis raises his eyebrows with a cocky smirk playing on his gorgeously red lips.

“You inspired me.” Harry gives him a seductive look, all bleary eyes and biting lips, and Louis’ mouth is on his again in a heartbeat.

Harry flips them around, pressing Louis in to the mattress and dipping down to kiss his neck, his teeth grabbing hold of Louis’ tanned skin, and he sucks harshly while Louis writhes beneath him, his mouth releasing small whines that are slowly becoming louder.

Harry pulls away from the several, angry bruises dotting Louis’ chest as he presses a large hand to Louis’ mouth.

“Gotta be quiet, baby,” Harry whispers, pulling away when Louis nips at his palm. “Want me to suck you off?”

“ _Fuck_ , yeah, but first…I wanna try something. Just tell me if it’s weird or uncomfortable, okay? I…it’s something I’ve always wanted to try, just haven’t found someone I’d like to try it with.”

Harry thinks that Louis’ mother’s house is hardly the place to explore sexual experiences, but there's an air of anticipation and excitement, because Louis is going to try something new with him, and they might get _caught_. It makes Harry’s heart stutter deliciously, something incredibly hot about having to stay quiet in case someone hears them.

Harry nods, telling him he understands and it’s okay, and Louis flips them back over so that he's on top – in his rightful place, Harry might add. As much as Harry loves sucking Louis off and pleasuring him, Louis is always the one in control.

“Turn on your back,” Louis whispers, kissing him softly, and Harry obliges, nervous but intrigued.

Harry gasps and turns his head in to the fluffy pillow in front of him when cool air hits his arse that’s suddenly bare. He feels Louis pull his pants down until he’s fully naked and shivering in anticipation. Louis trails his fingers up Harry’s thighs, and Harry whines and ruts in to the mattress beneath him, trying to find friction to ease his red, throbbing cock. The bedding is scratchy and doesn’t do much to relieve him, but small shocks of pleasure are running through his body as Louis kneads his bum.

“Stop moving,” Louis orders, slapping Harry’s arse lightly. Harry fucking moans.

He's always been loud in bed, and Louis gets off to it, Harry knows this, but it’s so hard to keep quiet now as Louis teases him with his fingers, soft as they dust over his pallid skin that’s raised with goosebumps and expectation.

“Get on your knees and put your arse in the air,” Louis instructs, and Harry scrambles to please Louis, and himself really.

It’s aggravating, feeling the cool air travel across his naked body, brushing against his exposed hole, and Harry can’t help but wiggle his arse as Louis’ fingers grip the flesh tightly, massaging it as Harry arches his back, exposing himself more and more to Louis and his pleasurable fingers. His cock is hard between his legs, pointing upwards towards his stomach, red and angry about not being touched. Harry spreads pre-come over his slit and hisses at the contact.

“You’re so fucking fit,” Louis moans, squeezing Harry with just the right amount of pressure.

“ _Ah_ – Lou, _fuck_.”

Like this, wrapped up in a blanket of each other’s dirty moans and pheromones, Harry can forget about the day’s events. His mind focuses solely on Louis.

They’ve never been near each other’s arses, never been this close to each other’s holes, and never been as close as Louis is now. Harry isn’t sure what he's going to do, but he's never felt more liberated and sexy than now, with Louis basically drooling over him as he stares at his arse with wild, blown-out eyes that scream _fuck me_.

Harry feels Louis spread his cheeks, and he's fully exposed now, self-conscious and nervous. It’s kind of scary, being open like this in front of your lover for the first time, and he loves just how many first times he's had with Louis. It’s like they never stop.

He tries to shut himself up because he sounds strangely similar to that girl from Fifty Shades. Not that he’ll ever admit to reading the first one. Or the entire trilogy. 

“So beautiful,” Louis whispers.

Harry’s breathing harshly now; keenness rushing through his body and all the way in to his cock. Nothing could’ve ever prepared him for the way it feels when Louis’ tongue licks a long, experimental stripe over Harry’s hole and up his arse.

“ _Fuck!_ _”_ Harry squeals, hiding his face in Louis’ pillow, his body sliding forward with the sensation, his arse turning up higher, trying to get Louis to lick more of him.

“Alright?” Louis asks tentatively, brushing a concerned hand across the back of his thigh.

“Yeah, Lou. Again, _please_ ,” Harry begs, like he's lost the ability to say anything more than _please_ and _again_.

Louis buries himself between Harry’s cheeks, his tongue lapping against his hole, fast, wet, slippery and delicious. Spit tickles him as it runs down and over his balls, his body quaking. Louis’ small, nimble hands are pulling Harry’s cheeks apart, so far that it’s tingling and stretching him, but Harry loves it. He focuses on the way Louis’ tongue feels as he eats him out, flicking quicker and quicker, changing from small grazes to long, fat stripes that dip slightly in to his hole. Thank God Harry had a thorough shower earlier, washing himself three times over to get rid of the sweaty feeling and dirt.

Louis sucks, his spit making obscene noises that break through the silence of the house and Harry’s muffled moans. Harry’s dick is absolutely throbbing now, begging for attention as it leaks pre-come down his shaft. Harry adores being eaten out.

“Lou – fuck, feels so good. Love your tongue,” Harry gasps, his entire body sizzling as Louis licks dainty circles around his rim.

“Yeah? Want me in deeper? Want me to open you up with just my tongue?” Louis pulls away from his arse to ask.

“Oh god, _please,_ Lou. Please,” Harry murmurs, his eyes on the verge of leaking tears from how good it feels.

It gets even better when Louis’ tongue begins to force its way in to Harry’s hole, wet and warm and so foreign. Harry grabs his cock, jerking off to the steady licks of Louis’ tongue inside of him. It’s mind-blowing, the way it feels, the way it elicits such pleasure from Harry’s body. Louis keeps digging deeper, opening Harry up as he moans loudly in the pillow, his deep voice resonating in the basement, along with the faint sounds of spit and licking and Harry’s hand jerking himself off. He tries to calm his hand down, but he can’t, because Louis is doing such sweet things to him that he just jerks off faster and faster, pre-come slipping down his pumping fist and skin slapping against skin.

“Quiet baby, gotta keep quiet,” Louis says from between his arsecheeks, and that alone makes Harry moan again.

Louis knocks Harry’s hand away from his dick, and Harry whines, frustrated with pleasure. It’s not fulfilling, Louis eating him out, it’s constant and amazing but it’s not enough and it makes Harry finally cry. He whines loudly, his voice muffled, but Louis just continues on, fucking Harry with his tongue. Harry’s searching for any kind of friction, grinding back on Louis’ face, trying to get his tongue deeper inside of him. Louis just bites on his rim, as if to tell Harry he's being naughty, but he keeps doing it, his body shaking and his skin covered in a layer of sweat.

“You’re gonna come untouched, love,” Louis says matter-of-factly, the vibrations of his voice travelling up Harry’s body. “You’re gonna cry because this is so good.”

“Already crying,” Harry huffs, sniffing just as Louis slaps Harry’s arse lightly. “ _Fuck._ ”

Harry can feel it building, and it’s building so slowly because Louis’ tongue is fucking him so well as he grinds back carefully, but nothing is touching him where he really needs it and his cock is twitching for more, and every time Harry tries to jerk himself off, Louis slaps him away and licks slower at his pink, stretched hole, as if to punish him. Harry collapses against the bed, his arse still up in the air, his mouth wide open as his eyelids fall shut from all the pleasure.

Louis suddenly speeds up, gripping Harry’s arse and darting his tongue in and out in quick succession, before wrapping his lips around Harry’s rim and sucking. He returns to lapping at Harry like he's a kitten, and suddenly it’s all too much – Louis’ tongue and his stubble brushing against his balls, the wet feeling against his rim and his thick, throbbing cock that’s so hard it keeps brushing against Harry’s stomach every time he rocks back on to Louis’ face. He finally comes, exasperated and relieved as his cock shoots a load so big it looks like he’ll never stop.

Louis had reached around Harry’s endless body before he came. He clamps down on Harry’s mouth with his manly hands, flipping him around so that his cock spurts on his chest instead of the bedsheets. Just as Louis suspected, Harry releases a long, whimpering groan that would put any porn star to shame (and frankly wake the neighbours had it not been suppressed), his body juddering and his hips jutting upwards, until finally he drops against the bed, his body buzzing with aftershocks that make him jolt.

He’s panting out little _ah ah ah_ _’s_ as he comes down, jerking off the last bits of come on to his chest, and Harry watches Louis gaze at him in awe, his eyes wide and his hands palming his dick. He leans forward and wipes the tears off of Harry’s face, kissing each cheek before pressing a dainty peck on his nose.

Harry looks up at him with dreamy eyes and a smile so bright that it could put the sparkle of his emerald eyes to shame. Harry looks beautiful when he's well fucked.

“So amazing, Lou. Was so amazing,” Harry mumbles, his body giving in as he falls asleep.

Louis doesn’t even wake him up. He deserves everything after what Louis put him through, and the least he can give him is sleep.

 

~

 

Harry has to suck Louis off well the next morning to make up for falling asleep on him and his hard-on, but it’s worth it to see Louis so bright and radiant while Harry makes them breakfast. He keeps his arms wrapped around his waist and his head buried between Harry’s shoulder blades as they sway gently while Harry makes omelets.

It’s early, and the rest of the house is asleep, and the boys are trying to be as quiet as possible, but they're both so happy and still riding off the high of Louis’ rimjob and Harry’s spectacular blowjobs. He's gotten better at those. He’s become acquaintances with Louis’ sweet spots and just how he likes being jerked off and sucked off, and his record for getting Louis to come is quite amazing.

They’re giggling like idiots over a stupid joke Harry’s made, and Harry must’ve really done well this morning because not once has Louis sassed him for his jokes.

They’re pretty great, so.

Harry’s phone vibrates from where it’s been on charge for the last twenty-four hours, forgotten in the corner of the kitchen. Louis bounds over to answer for him, because Harry is busy throwing spices and ingredients left, right and centre.

“Hello?” Louis answers, walking back to his lover to rest his face in Harry’s muscular back.

“Harry! You fucking cunt! It’s been two fucking days since you’ve been missing, we’re all worried sick!” Niall voice booms across the receiver.

Harry stops cooking, turning to Louis with worried eyes. He could hear Niall over the splutters and spitting of the food on the pan, _that_ _’s_ how loud and angry he is.

“Now now, Niall, we’ve spoken about your manners in the past, do I need you to remind you of the correct way to speak to people?” Louis quips, biting down on Harry’s bare back.

“Louis?” His voice is suddenly calmer, definitely more confused, but calmer. “You fucker, you.”

“Good morning to you too, Niall. How’s the weather in London?” Louis seems to opt for small talk as he puts the phone on loudspeaker, but Harry knows he's just being smug and smiles in to the herbs he's currently sniffing.

“Harry’s there? With you? Is he okay? How are _you_?” Niall’s bombarding questions at Louis – his tone worried and relieved.

“I’m here, I’m fine, woke up in a field outside Doncaster, Louis is fine, well fucked – _ow!_ _”_ Harry reaches back to pry Louis’ off of his skin, a rather deadly ring of teeth making a mark on his bicep. “Sharp little mouth on you.”

“Why didn’t you call? I- _shit_ Harry, everyone’s been worried sick, and Nick feels terrible-“

“Hold on, _Nick_?” Louis jumps in, stiff and rigid and suddenly not touching Harry anymore. “What does Nick have to do with all of this?”

“He, um,” Niall literally gulps in to the phone, “Liam and I decided we’d need more reinforcements if Harry tried to get away, so we called Nick…”

“The _fuck_ is wrong with you, Niall? Like, do you not have a brain? I told you I don’t want Nick anywhere near Harry, that fucker has an agenda-“

Harry tunes out, his stomach dropping because yeah, Nick did have an agenda, but it was kind of consensual, the kiss, because Harry really was going through a Louis-withdrawal. He keeps his mouth shut though, because he would be in the biggest amount of shit _ever_ if Louis found out. He feels awful, utterly guilty, and he knows that Louis has massive trouble trusting people, and he would never trust Harry again if he found out he betrayed what little trust he's instilled in him.

He's brought out of his thoughts when he hears Louis growl, and his phone clatter on a counter, and he feels Louis behind him, his presence radiating anger and hurt. He doesn’t turn around.

“Why didn’t you tell me Nick was also with you?” Louis’ voice is deathly calm and even, and that scares Harry more than when he’s shouting.

“It’s not that big of a deal,” Harry tries to brush it off, “We barely even spoke.”

“But he was with you? That night you got drunk and came here?”

“Yes.” Harry bites his lip, refusing to look anywhere but at his cooking.

“Why?”

“Because I wanted to go out and get drunk and forget about how hurt I was over you,” Harry grits his teeth. “Niall and Liam were exhausted so I said he could come with me.”

“You know I don’t want him around you-“

“I’m not a fucking child!” Harry yells, a deathly silence following his outburst.

The birds have stopped tweeting, and even the old wood in the house has decided to stop its creaking. Harry’s hands grip the marble in front of him, his arms straining and his muscles popping out with how hard he's gripping it. Just because he likes to be taken care of doesn’t mean that he likes people ordering him around and deciding whom he should be around, and whom his friends should be. Harry can actually make some decisions himself.

Harry swivels around, his eyes deadly and his face compassionless and hard. He glares at Louis, his taller frame extremely intimidating as he towers over him, and Louis is frozen in shock, too scared to even move back.

“You seem to have forgotten that you were the one that left me abandoned, not the other way around. It was _you_ that left me in pieces for other people to pick up, it was _you_ that made me want to get smashed in the first place, and it was _you_ who made me question every single thing about myself when you just up and left. Don’t tell me who to be around when you can’t even be there for me yourself.”

Yeah, Harry can feel the sting from his outburst, but it’s all _true_. He was perfectly content on sitting around and pretending like it was okay, until Louis had to open his fat gob and get him riled up like this. Harry sighs, deflating, before turning around and wordlessly continuing on with breakfast. It’s mechanical and all muscle-memory as Harry cooks, his mind blank for once. It’s also kind of frightening the way the kitchen has lost its life and the air of euphoria in a few minutes.

He's not an angry person, can’t hold on to grudges to save his life, and all the anger has left his body and made him exhausted. He can still feel Louis behind him, frozen, but he doesn’t say anything. It’s Louis’ turn to speak now.

The food is ready and Louis still hasn’t moved, too scared that if he were to leave, Harry wouldn’t let him come back. Harry rolls his eyes and grabs two plates, loading the steaming bundles on to them and placing them on the other side of the kitchen counter, pulling up a stool and digging in.

Louis joins him after a while, breaking his vegetative state and coming to sit next to Harry. They eat with side portions of silence and tension, so thick that not even a knife could cut through them. Every sound is amplified in Harry’s ears, his chewing and swallowing and the scrape of metal against porcelain.

“I’m sorry,” Louis squeaks out suddenly, so low that Harry isn’t sure if he's hearing things or not.

“What?”

“I’m sorry.”

Harry turns to look at him, and Louis eyes are brimming with unshed tears, because _god forbid_ Louis Tomlinson’s ego would let him cry. Harry raises his eyebrows and says, “Is that all I’m getting?”

“I’m _really_ sorry?”

“Nope. Try again. More along the ‘desolate, desperate fan’ route.”

“I’m so sorry I ever said that I didn’t mean it I just really wanted a follow from you? I really didn’t mean to say _shove your dick in my face and cum down my throat so I can choke on your heavenly sperm_?”

“Nope.”

“Harrryyyy, why are you making this so hard?” Louis groans, burying his face in his hands.

“Because I just want you to be serious for once in your life. Serious about us. Serious about me.”

Louis looks up at him with that same shocked face he held earlier, bringing a shaky hand up to cup Harry’s always stubble-less cheek, swallowing loudly before kissing his other cheek.

“I am serious about us, and you. More serious than I’ve been about anyone else in my entire life. I’m really sorry, Haz. I didn’t mean to sound condescending or like I own you or something, he just makes me so mad, and I don’t want you to be around him in case he tries something. Did he touch you or try anything?”

“No,” Harry splutters, his eyes wide.

“Good.” Louis presses a long, loving kiss on to Harry’s lips. “Because you’re mine, aren’t you?”

"Sometimes I seriously doubt it," Harry replies honestly, pulling away from Louis' touch, ignoring the way it hurts to do so. "All you've been doing lately is hurting me. I don't know how much more I can take."

"No no, Harry don't start saying shit like this. I promised you I'd try, you said you'd give me a second chance. Let me try Haz,  _please._ " 

"You can't just keep fucking up and expecting me to forgive you. I want to be with you - but I'm not sure that it's for the best."

"Harry, please," Louis pleads, grabbing his pallid hand and squeezing it tightly. "Please, I don't want you to go. I'm sorry, so fucking sorry for everything and all the pain I've caused you. I'll treat you better, I will."

Harry looks down at Louis, his crystal-blue eyes pooling with moisture. His heart is yearning for Louis, moving towards him but pulling back at the same time. He said he'd give Louis a chance, but were the two of them worth it? Was the pain he went through normal? Harry doesn't know what to think anymore. God, he thinks he's in love with the pixie-haired, sassy boy, but would it hurt less to pull away? Harry knows he's in so deep, that a withdrawal from Louis would hurt him so much, all over again, and he's not sure he can go through that a second time. But he's also not sure that he can stand the pain that Louis puts him through. Harry's head is spinning with questions, and he honestly doesn't know what to do. He doesn't know what to say to Louis. How is he supposed to pick a path when both of them are going to cause him pain? If he chooses to give Louis another chance, would Louis really not fuck it up this time? He might not be hurt again if he placed his faith in Louis once again, but there is the possibility it could happen. He's so,  _so_ confused, because everyone makes mistakes, and he hates it when he punished for his mistakes. Louis had acknowledged that what he had done was a mistake, didn't that mean something? All he knows is that he was lying to himself when he said that he had forgiven Louis.

"I, I need to think," Harry replies, his voice low and soft. "Give me time to think."

Harry gets up suddenly, making his way outside on to the porch. He needs space and time, away from the intoxicating, influential person known as Louis Tomlinson. He's stronger than this, and he knew if he were to pull away, that he'd get through it eventually. He would. Because somewhere beneath the anxiety and the awkwardness, Harry is a strong person who can take care of himself. It would be hard, but if needs be, Harry knows he could do it. He just doesn't know if he'd ever stop missing the presence of Louis in his life.

He finds it ironic how in the past two weeks, all he wanted was to be next to Louis again. Now that he's here, he needs to be away from him.

The dominant question in Harry's mind is _should I stay, or should I go?_

He wishes he knew.


	20. Camisado

Harry leans over the wooden banister, his head running and his heart thumping. The wind brushes lightly across his face, a dull icy sting resonating in his facial bones. His hair ruffles in the wind behind him, the wild curls bouncing. His mind is painfully quiet and he doesn’t know what to do. There’s a fierce longing inside of him, a burning for Louis. He’s torn between giving Louis another chance and moving on completely.

Okay, he can’t move on from Louis. It’s impossible.

He groans and buries his face in his icy, static fingers that are numb from the cold. He cares about Louis so much, feels so strongly for him. When was the last time he dived right in to something? When was the last time he let himself go, let go of his anxieties and just _lived_? That’s what being with Louis feels like. Harry feels liberated, like he’s done something beautiful that he can be proud of. Louis makes him confident, makes him do things and feel things that he’s never done before. Louis has hurt him, that much Harry can’t deny. But the good things he’s done have outweighed the bad. Harry smiles as he remembers the date in the forest, the beautiful lights, the hot air balloon and the beautiful picnic on the beach. Louis is considerate, kind and loving. Sure, he’s an arsehole too, but Harry can be like that, too.

 _Oh God_ , he thinks, his heart jumping in anticipation and excitement, _I have to give him another chance. I just have to._

He breathes in deeply, pulling out his phone from his pocket and staring at the photos he has in his gallery. His smile widens as he stares at the photos of Louis that were taken without the cobalt-eyed boy knowing. Louis looks perfectly soft in Harry’s lavender sweater and glasses, reading a book curled up by the fireplace. Harry swipes to a photo of the both of them, eyes hazy from sleep and smiles wide from a morning full of kisses. Harry isn’t ready to let this go – he _can_ _’t_.

He groans and turns around, entering the house and savouring the warmth and homely feeling. He finds Louis in the kitchen where he left him, head in his hands and mind racing. Louis turns around when Harry enters, and when he glances at the ticking clock on the wall; he notes that he’s been outside for a good half hour. Louis looks up at him with puppy dog eyes, eyes that shine with apprehension and trepidation, and Harry smiles down at the rugged, yet positively beautiful boy. No, he can’t let this go yet.

He smiles at Louis, his face radiating the fondness that he feels every time he looks at Louis.

“One chance, Tomlinson. One more chance. If you fuck this up, I will personally be the one to cause you death.”

Louis laughs and his eyes light up like Harry’s never seen before, and yeah, maybe he’s worth it.

 

~

 

Louis stares ahead, his eyes pinched in concentration, a crease forming between his eyebrows. He bites his lip, observing, analyzing, and cocking his head to stare at different angles, as if that would change anything.

“This is a one day game Louis, not a test series,” Harry quips from across him, a cheeky grin plastered on to his features as he stares at him with an amused look in his emerald eyes.

“Are you quite finished?” Louis raises a single eyebrow as he glares blatantly at Harry. “This isn’t fair.”

“You’re just terrible.”

Louis scoffs and rolls his eyes, Harry humming triumphantly as he leans back on the couch in Louis’ room, steaming cups of tea on the coffee table in front of them. Louis’ eyes light up as he gets an idea. _Yes._

“ _Vibey_? Louis, that’s not a word.”

“Is too.”

“Not.”

“Is too.”

“Not-“

Louis shuts him up with his lips and his hand gripping Harry’s thigh as he straddles him. Harry flails and moans in surprise, sinking in to Louis’ touch. Louis immediately pulls away with a dazzling grin.

“Okay,” Harry says breathlessly, “Vibey is a word.”

Louis hums in satisfaction and returns to his seat, a comfortable, worn-in sofa opposite the one Harry is currently perched on. Scrabble has never been Louis’ forte, but Harry’s puppy eyes and deep voice are sometimes a little too much, even for a master of restraint like Louis.

It’s freezing outside, with snow falling in clumps and building up on the lawns. Harry and Louis have already spent the entire day in the cold, bumbling about in bomber jackets and scarfs and beanies, shoving snow down each other’s back and kissing in the heavy onslaught when no one was looking. Louis will not admit to following the trend of selfies, which is why he will never admit to having hundreds of photos with Harry in the snow, kissing and laughing with exuberant smiles and eyes brighter than the bluest oceans and greenest forests.

And his favourite one is definitely not his homescreen background. Nope.

Darkness is falling, and Louis is becoming increasingly sadder as it does, because Harry is leaving in two days. It’s almost Christmas, and Louis has decided to stay in Doncaster for the remainder of the holidays. He first came home because there was a mix-up with his mum’s medication, and she was well on the way to getting sick. Louis looked after her night and day until her body recovered from her almost-cold, because a cold could become pneumonia in a matter of weeks, and that could become a massive problem.

Louis wishes he could spend more time with Harry, but Harry’s family is coming to London to visit. It would be far too selfish to ask Harry to stay; and even if he did, there was no way that Louis’ sorry excuse for a nice house would be able to accompany Anne and Gemma too.

Louis has thought about bringing his family to London, so that they could all spend Christmas together, but that would fuel his mum’s suspicions even more.

It isn’t that Louis is ashamed of Harry. He would prance around London snogging him if he could – but he can’t. Harry’s career is far too important, and so is Louis’ relationship with his mother. Louis isn’t sure how well she would take it. She’s always been caring and supportive, but if Sunday mornings at church and the gold cross permanently hanging down her chest are anything to go by, Louis doesn’t think it would sit very well with her. He’s told Harry all of this, and he was so understanding that it made Louis’ heart swell and his eyes leak, just a tiny bit because he doesn’t know what he did to deserve such a golden soul. Harry got _properly_ rimmed after that.

For now though, Louis will settle for secrecy and debauchery. As long as he has Harry.

 

 

~

 

It’s a little while later with Louis passed out on his chest for an afternoon nap that Harry takes to social media. He's not extremely active on Twitter, save for a few select quotes and sentences that mean nothing to anyone but him. He’s scrolling through his timeline and following a few fans when he comes across a tweet to him.

 

_@harrystyles you_ _’re the only thing that keeps me going._

Harry’s heart clenches and his stomach drops, because he hates seeing stuff like this. He hates seeing people who are in distress and drowning in their own lives. His music is his outlet, and the fact that it keeps someone from discarding their life makes him want to write a thousand songs for every single one of his fans.

He curiously clicks on her profile, and sighs heavily. She’s got morbid quotes and photos, things speaking about ending her life and throwing everything away. It makes shivers run down his back when he sees things like this, because he _knows_. He knows what it feels like to lose hope – to watch someone lose hope, and it had very nearly killed him. He's lost all faith in humanity when he sees tweets directed at her that read _KILL YOURSELF ALREADY_ and _YOU FAT HOE NO ONE LIKES YOU._ No, he doesn’t think this is fair at all, and he’s proper angry about it. He does all he can: follows the girl and sends her a direct message.

 

_Keep holding on, love. Thank you for everything. You are kind, you are special, and you are beautiful. Please don_ _’t do anything to harm yourself. I wouldn_ _’t be very pleased._

And Harry’s not satisfied, no. There are thousands of others suffering the same way, and he's tired because he knows what its like for them. He logs in to Twitlonger.

 

_Beauty should not be measured in gaps, numbers, gapes or sizes. Beauty should not be measured by colours, followers or likes. It sickens me that we have lost the concept of beauty completely, because there is a difference between attractiveness and beauty. Attractiveness is what you see, Beauty is who you are._

_Everyone is beautiful, but not because of their baby blue eyes or their beautifully curly hair that dazzles in the sunlight. Everyone is beautiful for what is inside of him or her. It_ _’s clich_ _é, it_ _’s_ _“overrated_ _”, but it is the truth that we all seem to ignore. You are beautiful for the way you put everyone else before you. You are beautiful for the way you laugh carelessly and for the snort that comes along with it. You are beautiful for the pure reason that you would do anything for anyone whom you care about. You are beautiful, because despite the world_ _’s continuous efforts to delude you, to break you, you push them back and you don_ _’t let them swallow you. You are beautiful because there are scars on your heart and stretches on your thighs that signify that you have lived, that you have found yourselves on paths that have shaped you and moulded you in to who you are today. You are beautiful because despite the fact that you have been hurt countless times, you will see the good in everyone, even those who have wounded you and left permanent marks on your soul. You are beautiful because you are strong. You are beautiful because you can appreciate the small things in life, things that you can see without money or a good camera, things like the sunset or the morning star or the priceless smile on a loved one_ _’s face when you_ _’ve made them happy. You are beautiful. You are worth it. You are everything and more. You are you, and that in itself is enough._

-       _H._

_That_ _’s better_ , he thinks to himself. He can’t fix the world, as much as he would love to, but if he makes a difference in someone’s life, then he’ll settle with it for now.

He sighs, pulling Louis in closer towards him. The older boy stirs slightly, but doesn’t wake. He's so beautiful like this, Harry thinks, so peaceful and so, so beautiful. Yes, Louis is attractive, but he's beautiful too. He's beautiful in the way that he makes Harry the happiest person alive, beautiful in the way he takes care of Harry, even in the fucked up way that he does. Harry sighs deeply, Louis’ head rising and falling on his chest, his long, thick eyelashes fluttering. He grips Harry’s shirt tighter in his fist, and Harry doesn’t mind the string of drool currently falling out of they blue-eyed boy’s mouth if it means he gets this. If it means he gets Louis.

 

~

 

The next day is Harry’s last with Louis, and he should be enjoying his presence and trying to get as many kisses in as possible, but he can’t, not today. Today is a day he wishes would be permanently wiped from his memories, a day that makes Harry want to cry for twenty-four hours straight.

He's sure that Louis has noticed.

It starts when he wakes up to the soft breeze brushing against his bare legs, lanky and entangled with the sheets and Louis’ curved calves. The leaves rustle loudly, as if they're trying to warn him that it’s _today_. He doesn’t realize until he checks his phone, the date jumping out at him and gripping his heart. He sucks in a shaky breath and rolls over, tears already prickling at his eyes. He's like that the entire day, speaking in hushed whispers and keeping his head bowed. He can tell that the entire family notices, but says nothing at the breakfast table. He feels like the kid he was before he met Louis, soft spoken and afraid of the world. He's closing in on himself and shrinking to try and keep all of him firmly glued together.

He feels terrible that he's not spending the day with Louis. He's there, but his mind isn’t. That guilt added on top of the guilt that today always brings him is almost too much for him to handle, enough weight on his shoulders to send him sprawling.

He’s lying on the bed after a scorching shower that was supposed to knock him out of his current semi-vegetative state when he makes the mistake of going through his photos from the first photo he’d ever taken. He sees her, starry-eyed and laughing, legs constricting Harry’s neck as they almost fall over. It’s not fair, he thinks to himself. It’s not fair.

He doesn’t realize he's got tear tracks as long as the Nile river running down his face until he hears the bathroom lock being fiddled with. He snaps out of his emotional state, wiping his eyes quickly and sniffing up whatever liquids that have decided to run down his face, back up his nose. Louis emerges, clad in tight boxer briefs that shape his arse perfectly, and harry fucking _squeaks_ when he sees Louis’ muscular thighs and his rounded arse in the fabric.  

Louis turns around quickly. “Are you okay?”

Harry’s eyes bulge out of his head, glued to the grey fabric that may or may not have made his dreams com true. “Arse. Thighs. Wow.”

Louis’ worried expression clears away to leave one of amusement. He smirks, his smooth, salmon-pink lips sliding up one side of his face in the signature Louis-Tomlinson-Half-Smirk. Harry thinks that he should get that trademarked.

And no, he isn’t using Louis’ arse as an excuse to forget about what day it is. Not in the slightest.

He watches Louis sway about as he gaits around the room, bending over extra low and sticking his arse out constantly. Harry bites the skin of his palm as he watches, tempted to palm over himself and the growing heat inside his stomach.

Harry suddenly hears the unmistakable patter of feet running down the basement stairs, and whatever heat had collected in his stomach dissipates and Daisy and Phoebe come racing through the doorway, launching themselves on to the bed and landing on Harry’s already bruised body. Louis was not kind to him in terms of lovebites last night.

“Harry! You have to come play in the snow again today!” Phoebe smiles excitedly, crawling on to Harry’s lap as he sits up.

“Really?” He smiles thinly, wrapping his arms around her skinny, fragile frame.

He loves these girls, so much so because they remind him of Louis, but now they remind him of _her_ more than ever. He grabs Daisy and laughs at her squeal, tucking them both in to the crook of each arm. They cuddle up to him, laying their heads on each of his broad, muscular shoulders that are far too pale to be seen in public.

“Yes Harry, you have to, because you’re leaving tomorrow,” Daisy says, playing with a smattering of nipple hair.

“Ouch!” Harry exclaims when she pulls too hard. “Lay off the nipple hair, love.”

He hears Louis snicker in the corner.

Daisy turns her attention to his shiny curls, tugging them straight and watching them bounce as she lets them go.

“Please don’t leave tomorrow, Harry,” Phoebe murmurs, playing with her fingers. “We really like you.”

Harry turns to Louis for help, and Louis looks at him with a somber expression and downcast eyes that signal that he doesn’t want Harry to go either. Truth be told, Harry doesn’t want to leave, but he needs to see his family, really wants to see them. Harry isn’t sure if Jay’s condition changes when she travels or not, otherwise he would’ve organized for them to come.

Maybe he might still be able to.

New Year’s Eve is coming around in any case, and Louis isn’t going to be back until the seventh, but if Harry can pull some strings, he could get them all to London for New Year’s. He’ll speak to Jay alone tonight.

For now though, he has two sad twins whom would really like a certain curly-haired lad to play in the snow with them.

 

 

~

 

 

It’s a stunning winter’s day out, bright and white and something out of Harry’s dreams. There's a perfect blanket of pearl-white snow covering the backyard, and the trees glisten with ice in the ever-so pale sunlight that occasionally makes an appearance. It’s something postcards are made of, especially if you throw in beanie-Louis with red dusted cheeks and bright blue eyes that could make the clearest of oceans jealous. Harry doesn’t know what colour they are, whether they’re icy blue or cobalt or azure. He's decided that they're Louis. Louis will be his own colour.

Daisy and Phoebe rush forward, burying themselves in the snow and laughing gleefully. It’s a beautiful sound, and it makes Harry’s insides warm far beyond the temperature of the outside world.

“Would you care for a snowball fight, my dear Mr. Styles?” Louis bows, extending his arm towards Harry.

“I don’t mind if I do, Mr. Tomlinson,” Harry grins, taking his arm as they walk down the rickety steps in to the backyard.

They split up as soon as they reach the snow, finding hiding places and creating their ammo. Harry has always been a champion snowball maker, and he's got an entire army’s worth in less than five minutes. He grabs four, because he has monstrous hands and can fit two in each, and heads out to seek Louis.

He walks quietly, spotting a thicket of bushes and a glimpse of a beanie out from behind them. He grins slyly, running towards the bushes. He grabs Louis’ beanie and yanks it off to find…nothing?

Just then, he hears a distinct battle cry, and looks up to find Louis in the branch of a low tree just as he fires snowball after snowball at him. Harry yells out as Louis jumps down on to him, flattening him against the ground and pelting him with an endless supply of snowballs.

“I think you broke my body,” Harry groans, Louis still on top of him.

And well, who would Harry and Louis be if they didn’t have a makeout session in a position like this?

Louis bites his lip as he surveys Harry, much like a lion watches its prey, before nudging his nose with his own. Harry breathes heavily, desire and excitement pooling in his belly. Louis brushes their lips together, faintly and softly, before Harry surges upwards and pulls Louis down by the nape of his neck. God, he loves kissing Louis.

He threads his nimble fingers in to Louis’ soft, snowflake-dusted hair, tugging and savouring the beautiful moans that pour in to his mouth from Louis. He licks eagerly in to Louis’ mouth, their tongues sliding together as Harry’s heart rate excels. Harry loves the feel of Louis’ lips sliding against his, soft and slippery and _so_ good.

“Lou?” Harry asks, breaking off their kiss with bated breath.

“If this is where you ask for me to screw you – I’ll gladly oblige.”

“As much as I’d want that – no. I have a question. When I first met you and bought your groceries, who were those condoms for?”

Louis looks slightly puzzled, his eyebrows knitting together before realization seems to dawn on him. “Those were for Niall. He got drunk the night before and asked me to shag him, so I bought condoms to make it look like I was seriously going to. He proper freaked out.”

“Why am I falling for such a creep?” Harry whispers against Louis’ lips, the tender touch of their noses sending tingles through his body.

“I could say the same about you, you crazy indie singer with a fedora fetish and a secret infatuation with David Beckham.”

“The second half of that sentence definitely pertains to you, my little friend.”

“That may be one hundred percent true, but I am not little.”

“Standing next to me, you look like a leprechaun.”

“Niall’s the leprechaun. I’m simply sexy. My height has nothing on my looks.”

“You’re a twink,” Harry smirks at Louis. “Pretty hung but adorably cute.”

Louis looks at him, aghast. “You take that back Harry Styles before I put shaving cream in your Christmas socks.”

“Twink,” Harry singsongs, peppering kisses on a resistant Louis’ face.

“Harold, I’m warning you. I’m fucking manly. Could snap that gorgeous torso in two.”

“Louis is a lovely twink. See, I can do alliterations too. I could make a song about it, you know. It’ll be like Chris De Burgh’s _Patricia the Stripper,_ but it’ll instead be entitled _Louis the Twink_.”

“But _Patricia the Stripper_ works, Harold. _Louis the Twink_ doesn’t.”

“ _Louis the Twink, he makes me think. When he shakes his hips, my heart dips, because that ass is perfectly shaped for_ _… the lass_.”

It’s silent as Louis looks down at him, fighting off a grin for a faux expression of anger until he can’t any longer and his body bubbles with laughter. He collapses on top of Harry, gorgeous giggles flowing out of his reddened lips. Harry loves seeing Louis like this, happy and carefree and giggly. It reminds him that there’s another side to Louis, one past the hurtful, sarcastic front that he puts up to ward people away. This lovely, shy and giggly side that hides behind the sarcasm is the one that Harry loves the most.

Louis smiles widely, his pearly white, slightly crooked teeth exposed behind his rosy lips. He breathes harshly, trying to refill his lungs after his laughing fit, and kisses Harry on the nose. “It’ll be a bestseller for sure, love. No doubt about it.”

They kiss again, sweet and adoring and everything that makes Harry’s legs weak against the soft, freezing snow. Louis is still perched on top of him, his hands on Harry’s red tinged cheeks, lips moving slow and carefully. Harry thinks that he could stay like this forever.

And it’s kind of scary, the impact that Louis has on Harry. It’s like they're magnetic, constantly aware of each other and each other’s feelings and emotions. Harry can tell from the flicker of an eyebrow or the crinkle of the skin on a forehead that something has changed in the way Louis feels about something. They compliment each other, as if Harry were the Milky Way and Louis was the bright, burning stars that make up the pathway. As if Harry were the ocean and Louis was the moon, constantly pulling and pushing him, who can’t help but fall under the effects of him. As if Harry were simply himself, and he was completely, utterly falling for Louis Tomlinson.

“You’re wearing too many layers of clothing,” Harry groans.

“I don’t think he is, it’s cold,” Harry hears a familiar voice behind him.

“Yeah, I agree. Let’s go as mummy for some tea,” a similar voice agrees. “Are you two coming? Isn’t Lou squishing you?”

Harry turns his head towards the twins who are looking down at him with pure curiosity and some confusion. “We’ll be there soon, girls. And no, Louis is just perfect.”

Harry can’t ignore the way Louis’ eyes light up and his eyes kind of get watery, and his face breaks in to the most beautiful smile Harry has ever seen on the blue-eyed boy whose eyes sparkle like the ocean in the sun.

They join the girls inside for tea that Jay so kindly made for them, and Harry glances at the clock as he drinks, and it’s already four in the afternoon. Harry barely has a day left with Louis, and then he’s back home for him without his ray of sunshine.

“Hey love, there's something I want to show you when you’re done with your cuppa and I’ve put the girls down for an afternoon nap, they’re spent,” Louis says as he carries two bleary-eyed girls in each arm, his heart warming at the way they curl up to his shoulders and mind marveling at just how physically strong his baby is.

He watches Louis climb the stairs, not-so-shamelessly staring at his arse as he walks, and he thinks that maybe he should start doing squats so that Louis can feel the same way about him.

“He’s such a gem, Lou is,” Harry hears a voice enter the kitchen from the living room. “I’m so proud of him.”

Harry turns to face Jay, a blanket hanging from her shoulders and her fingers curled around a steaming cup of tea. She takes a sip and rests her elbows on the counter beside Harry. Her dark hair is up in a messy bun, her blue eyes warm and welcoming.

“He’s the most amazing person I’ve ever met,” Harry agrees, looking slightly wistful as he stares at the steam emerging from his tea.

“You really like him, don’t you?”

“You have no idea.”

It takes Harry all but two seconds to register what he's said, and he claps his hand over his mouth with wide, scared eyes. Jay laughs.

“It’s really okay, Harry baby,” Jay giggles with a bright smile, pulling Harry’s hand away from his mouth. “I knew just by watching you two.”

“Knew what?” Harry gulps.

“That you two were something special. That something is going on. And I’m right aren’t I?”

Harry doesn’t answer.

“I won’t say anything to Lou, because I know exactly why he doesn’t want to tell me. I won’t push him to. I just want you to know that I am fully supportive of this. He’s always been so closed off, ever since he was a child. He barely got to know his father and although he was the biggest Mama’s boy, he just never told me things and never really _felt_. The first time I ever saw him cry was when I told him that I was diagnosed. It was heartbreaking to see it. But with you, I can see that he's opened up. He’s happier and brighter with you around. I just knew. You’re good for him Harry; I don’t want you thinking that he's just good for you. Because my baby is brilliant, but so are you. You two compliment each other beautifully.”

Harry is stunned with Jay’s revelation, because he wasn’t expecting that. She’s blunt, alright. He’s so happy to have her permission, because it means so much to him, and he knows how much it would mean to Louis. He would have to keep this to himself for now, because Harry can sense that Louis really isn’t ready for any of this, but he’ll keep dropping hints about coming out to his mother.

“I think I love him, you know? He's made me a better person. I used to have terrible social anxiety, and I still do, but I don’t get it when he's around. It feels like he's there to protect me and it makes me feel so confident. I’m so much more open about things now, all because of your son, Jay. He’s so special to me. The only downside is that he doesn’t see how special he is. He doesn’t think he deserves what we have, you know?”

“Louis has always been like that. He doesn’t feel like he deserves the best, that the amazing things he does don’t deserve to be recognized and rewarded. You know he once baked a hundred cookies when he was eight? He hopped on his bike and went to the local old age home and handed them out to everyone just because his grandmother had told him that they had run out of pudding at the home and the trucks that usually brought them over were on strike.”

Harry can see it. He can see Louis with flour smattered against his cheeks and batter stuck beneath his fingernails, can see him cycling down the street with cookies carefully packaged in his backpack. He can see his bright smile as he hands them out, and the pride and adoration shining in his grandmother’s eyes.

“He’s such a sweetheart,” Harry sighs, “But he's so…reserved. Like, I know next to nothing about him. I only found out about your condition when I got here, and about him having sisters two months in to knowing him. I didn’t even know he didn’t have a father.”

“Classic Louis.”

“He’s also a shit comforter,” Harry laughs, and Jay laughs along with him.

“Oh, that much we all know. Hopefully you can change that.”

“I don’t know, I have a lot of problems, and they just seem to irritate him.”

“He’ll come around, Harry. I’m sorry you have to deal with those problems alone, baby. I know that half of the other person’s job in a relationship is to help you through problems. If you’d like, I could talk to him about it?”

“No that’s okay, thank you, Jay. He might suspect something about this chat and besides, I think this is something we need to sort out by ourselves, you know?”

“I completely agree,” Jay says, leaning her head on Harry’s shoulder. “If it helps, I think he loves you too. And I think that the idea fucking petrifies him.”

“You’re so much like him,” Harry shakes his head. “The entire family curses like sailors.”

“I apologize, sweetie.”

“Nothing to be sorry about. As long as I can swear too,” Harry wiggles his eyebrows at her, and she laughs.   
“No way. I’ll have to have a chat with Lou about how much he swears.”

“It’s kinda hot,” Harry admits, and Jay bursts out laughing.

Harry joins her, and although he wants to ask her so many more questions about Louis and the way he is, he saves it because he thinks that its something Louis needs to tell him himself. Louis walks in on a rather peculiar scene, his mother draped across his boyfriend, their faces scrunched in pure bliss, their mouths wide open and eliciting laughs that can’t seem to stop. Louis raises his eyebrows and cocks his head to the side, amusement plain on his face. He loves the way his mother looks when she’s happy, her eyes crinkled and her dimples popping out. Harry looks beautiful next to his mother, his face scrunched up and his mouth stuck in a large, open-mouthed grin.

“What’s so funny?” Louis asks, a smile gracing his own lips when they’ve finally calmed down.

“Nothing,” Harry smiles back, winking at Louis and blowing him a kiss behind his mother.

Louis blushes.

Harry thanks Jay for the tea, and she kisses him on the cheek and tells him it was no trouble. Louis pulls Harry out of the kitchen with a suspicious glance behind his back, pulling him towards his bedroom.

“Why are you suddenly my mother’s favourite?” he asks as they descend the stairs.

“We have something in common,” Harry replies easily, letting Louis tug him along.

“And that would be?”

“You.”

Louis doesn’t answer, and Harry can see the smile stretch across his face as they walk. Louis stops them in his room, at a small patch of his carpet that looks slightly different from the rest. Harry’s suspicions are confirmed when Louis peels back the carpet to reveal a sort-of trap door. This seems all very _Harry Potter-ish_ to him, but he's excited nonetheless. Louis pulls upwards on the latch, his arms bulging as he tugs, and Harry loves the way his arms look when working something. Harry has to remind himself to tag along the next time Louis goes to gym. 

Eventually, the latch gives and the piece of wood pulls upwards, revealing darkness beneath the floor. Louis steps down three steps before Harry hears a click, and a dim light expels the dark. Louis disappears and Harry follows suit, careful not to bump his head on the roof of the small room.

Down here, the light brightens up the bookshelves and the dusty pillows on the ground. There are magazines strewn about the wooden floor, old handheld game consoles and little notes with boyish scribbles on them. Harry can imagine a much younger Louis down here, sitting amongst the pillows and clearing his head from the commotion.

“I used to come down here when I was angry at my family or if I had a really bad day,” Louis says, confirming Harry’s suspicions. “It was my little space. My family doesn’t know about it, and I’d like to keep it that way?”

Harry nods.

“It was a killer when I was forced in to Hide and Seek,” Louis laughs half-heartedly, seemingly too caught up in a trip down memory lane.

Harry takes the time to observe the entire place. He walks up to the bookshelf, his fingers tracing the spines of several books, things that Harry would never associate with Louis. Things across every genre like Hemmingway and Eyre, Stephen King and J.K Rowling, even Young Adult Fiction and Teen Fiction that Harry always thought was kind of girly, but read anyway. Harry has a hard time fighting a smile when he sees the entire series of _Twilight_ and _The Mortal Instruments_.

“I’m so happy that you’re showing this to me,” Harry says, eyes still wandering across the book titles.

He comes across a journal that looks similar to his, except the front is white and inscribed with scribbles that are very boyish, like the _Adiddas_ logo, _VANS_ and a man on a skateboard. Harry thinks that it looks almost identical to the tattoo on Louis’ arm.

They settle amongst the pillows eventually, enjoying the feeling of being curled up against one another.

It’s Louis who breaks the silence.

“I’ve been working on some things,” Louis says evasively, his grasp tightening on Harry.

“Yes?” Harry replies, curious.

“You can’t know yet,” Louis smirks, “But its pretty cool. I just have to sort some things out first and see about some stuff, but I should be able to show you soon.”

Harry’s mind runs, but he can’t come up with a single clue as to what Louis could be planning. He settles back down and tries to move his thoughts away from Louis’ elusive words.

“What’s in that journal I found?” Harry changes the subject, tracing his fingers across Louis’ face.

“Just some songs I wrote and poems and stuff,” Louis says shyly. “They're not any good, but it was a good outlet, you know?”

Harry feels closer to Louis than ever, because he used to do the same thing. He remembers lying on his bed, his journal sprawled open, pen clutched between his teeth as he racked his brain for ideas when his emotions were all over the place.

And just like that, the wave of grief hits him again, like a massive tidal wave against a cracking brick wall. He remembers writing endlessly, poems and entries and short stories about his sister, quite a few years ago to this date. His chest constricts and heaves, and he gulps loudly, trying to contain the tears in his eyes. He can’t do this now. He can’t.

But he can’t help himself. The sadness and grief is taking over him, gripping his body in its entirety, evil and cruel and unwilling to release him. He’s breaking down, and as much as he tried to ignore it, he knew it was there, beneath the surface, tearing him apart silently.

Louis sits up when he hears Harry whimper slightly, his eyes pierced in concern and his eyebrows knitted together in worry. He presses a cool palm to Harry’s red cheek, tracing the pad of his palm across the skin close to his eyes. Harry breathes shakily, turning his face in to Louis’ touch. He releases a small sob and Louis surges forward, pulling Harry in to his lap and hugging him tightly to his body. Harry’s arse rests in Louis’ lap, his gangly limbs stretched out across the pillows. Louis leans back against the wall and Harry wraps his arms around Louis’ neck, and Louis cradles him tightly, rocking back and forth gently as Harry grips him as if he was a boat lost at sea and Louis was the anchor that was desperately trying to save him by, well, anchoring him. It’s like Harry is a boat, and the reckless sea is his past and his emotions, constantly battling him and threatening to push him below the surface.

Harry sobs in to the crook of Louis’ neck, his face becoming red and his tears flowing endlessly, creating angry tracks down his face. Louis is probably so confused, but Harry is so grateful that he's just letting him cry against him, holding him so that he doesn’t float away or drown beneath his past.

Harry feels weak and vulnerable, but he knew this was coming. It happens every year on this date, and as much as he tries to fight it, he can’t. He can’t ignore it because it’s in everything he does. It’s in the way he likes his tea – the same as her. It’s in the way that they too, used to have snowball fights in winter. It’s in the way that they also read similar books, almost half of them now on Louis’ bookshelf, staring at Harry accusingly.  

_It_ _’s all your fault._

When Harry finally calms down, it’s because his body is too exhausted to cry. His tears have dried up, and his chest has finally stopped jerking with random breaths. He is still stuck under the blanket of sadness that is constricting him.

“You wanna tell me what that was about?” Louis smiles lightly. “I promised you I’d try. And you look like you need me.”

“I do,” Harry admits.

“I’ll listen. And I’ll try, Haz. I really will.”

Harry mulls it over in his head. It’s his biggest secret, one that he hasn’t told anyone outside of his family who was there when it happened. He knows he loves Louis, but what would Louis think of him? What would Louis say to him? Surely he’d be as disappointed as he knows everyone else was in him. He can’t risk losing Louis too. He can’t.

But at the same time, Louis deserves to know what happened. Harry can’t just suddenly break down and deny Louis of an explanation. Harry looks up through his wet, teary eyelashes and meets Louis’ kind gaze. His cobalt eyes are big and reassuring, full of promises and hope, non-judgmental, and just so alluring.

“It happened seven years ago to this day. I was at home, changing in to my warm clothes so that Rachel and I could go out and play in the snow. It was the first year I had seen proper now that was thicker than sleet or that wouldn’t melt as soon as one touched it,” Harry begins, his voice monotone as he gets lost in his own memories.

“Rachel was fifteen, I was twelve and Gemma was seventeen. Gemma and my parents had gone out for lunch with Gemma’s boyfriend, and Rachel said she wanted to stay behind to play in the snow, and I said I would stay with her because I also wanted to play and I didn’t like Gemma’s boyfriend. She wasn’t happy about it at all, but my mum made her agree. So we stayed.

“I remember it so clearly, and I wish I could forget it all. I wish every day of my life, Louis. I wish that I couldn’t recall everything that happened down to what _shoes_ she was wearing Lou. White Converse. Anyway, I finally got dressed and went to knock on her door, and she told me to go outside and she’ll be out soon, she just couldn’t find her big jacket. She sounded like she was crying, but when I asked she just said ‘don’t be silly; I’m a big girl, Haz. Now go, I’ll be out soon’. So I did.”

Harry knows by the sick look on Louis’ face that he knows what’s coming next. Louis doesn’t say anything in the short pause in Harry’s story, he just presses a chaste kiss to his lips and noses his cheek. Harry sucks in a deep breath and tries his best to continue.

“I waited for half an hour, _half a fucking hour_ , until I went to go look for her again. I knocked, but she didn’t reply. I called, but she didn’t reply. So I opened her door – and she’d left it unlocked. I found the letter first, right by the door.”

“Harry,” Louis whispers, his eyes closing as a single tear drops down.

“All it fucking said was ‘ _I_ _’m sorry. I love you all so much it hurts, but I couldn_ _’t take it any longer. Please don_ _’t hate me. I_ _’m sorry Harry if you_ _’re the one who has to find me_ _– you_ _’re so young and you don_ _’t deserve this, I told you that you should_ _’ve gone to lunch._ _’”_

Harry has the words committed to his mind, permanently etched there.

“It was the scariest thing I had ever seen Lou. Because when I turned to go and look for her, she wasn’t in her bathroom. So when I came back in to the room, I found her hanging from the ceiling fan by a belt, right above her bed.”

Louis gasps.

He pulls Harry closer to him, peppering kisses across his face and hair, trailing his fingers up and down Harry’s spine, trying everything in his power to console him without words, until he finishes his story.

“I couldn’t do anything, all because I didn’t go up earlier. I was twelve, Lou. How was I supposed to do anything? It’s all my fault. I was the only one in the house, and I didn’t do anything to stop it. I didn’t do anything but sink to the floor and cry, and eventually pass out from shock. She could’ve still been fucking breathing, but I didn’t get her down. I just fucking froze up like always.”

“Harry, it wasn’t your fault,” Louis says angrily, staring at harry with sharp eyes. “It wasn’t your fault. You couldn’t have known. Nothing you could’ve done would’ve made any difference.”

Harry doesn’t listen, he just closes his eyes and lets a few more tears fall.

“You can imagine what happened when my parents came home. They thought the lost both their children. I was passed out and they woke me up, but Rachel was dead.”

‘Harry, you couldn’t have stopped it,” Louis tries again, but its futile.

“My dad blames me for it. I see it in his eyes whenever he looks at me. For two years he couldn’t even look at me. That’s why he left Louis, because he thought I killed my sister or at the very least didn’t try to save her. I killed my sister and drove my dad away from our family. I was so ready for my mum to hate me because I’d pushed her husband out of the family. I was ready for Gemma to do it too. But they didn’t. I still have my mum and Gem.”

Louis shifts so that Harry is now against the wall instead of in Louis’ lap and straddles him, cupping his cheeks with his smaller hands. Harry looks in to his eyes, stormy and angry and sad, and god, Harry hopes Louis isn’t angry with him like everyone else was.

“You still have me, too. Baby, it wasn’t your fault at all. You could’ve have done anything to change the situation! It’s not your fault that she was depressed and didn’t tell anyone. Even if you had rushed her and she came out to play, she would’ve done it another day. Maybe she would’ve been alone that day, but you could’ve found the body still. There's no way you can change what happened, but love, come to terms with it. Stop letting it hurt you like this. It’s not. Your. Fault. I don’t know how much I can stress this. You are the most amazing, loving human being I have ever met and the way your body reacts to things is the way that it does, you can’t change that. Most people would’ve screamed or called nine-one-one, they would be in too much shock to try and get her down. As for your father, he's being a right dick about this. I hate that you’ve spent your life thinking this is all on you, because its not, angel. It’s not. I hate that you’re hurting so much. I’m so sorry.”

Harry cries again, and Louis holds him tightly, and he feels slightly better from Louis’ words. He loves feeling taken care of, loves having Louis comfort him and tell him everything is going to be okay, because with Louis holding him like this, he feels like it actually might be.

Louis kisses him softly, slow and caring like he’s coaxing every bad feeling out of Harry. He stands up, pulling Harry up with him and hugging him close, pressing his face in to the crook of Harry’s neck and wrapping his arms around his waist. Harry hugs back fervently, holding on to Louis with no intention of letting go.

“I’m so sorry, love. You don’t deserve that; you’re too amazing for any of this. I wish you hadn’t had such a hard life. But I’m here now, I’m here and I’ll take care of you, no matter what.”

Harry kisses Louis, unable to speak, but pouring every thank you in to the kiss.

He feels a little less broken now.

 

~

 

Harry rushes across the platform, trying to get there in time for his train. It wasn’t his fault that him and Louis ended up making out in a supply closet, he just wanted a makeout session before he left for London. Louis complied, and now Harry has two minutes to reach his train.

Louis and Jay are running behind him, the girls at home as Harry had already bid them heartfelt goodbyes. He's come to love Louis’ family like his own, and he hates leaving his family.

They reach his train with one minute to spare, and Harry breathes deeply as he hugs Louis tightly. Louis hugs back, his calves burning as he gets on his toes for Harry. Harry is going to miss him so much. He peppers secret kisses on Louis’ neck, already aware of the teenage girls hopping up and down in the distance and snapping photos of him. Oh well.

“Call me if you need anything, or if you’re feeling sad or anxious, and I’ll be there, okay? You don’t have to go through anything alone. I’m always here if you need me,” Louis whispers in to Harry’s ear, his words leaving Harry soft and breathless.

“I will, I…I’m going to miss you so much.”

“Ditto, mate.”

Harry laughs and pulls away, hugging Jay tightly.

“Thank you for everything, and for bringing my boy happiness. I know how much you mean to each other.”

“Thank you for letting me stay and be a part of the family for a bit. See you on New Years?”

“Of course, and not a word to Louis?”

“You’re a good woman, Jay Tomlinson. Happy Christmas.”

“And to you too, Harry Styles.”

Harry boards his train, blowing kisses to Louis who pretends to catch them and faint in to his mother’s arms. They both laugh, and as the train pulls away, Harry feels a piece of his heart stay in Doncaster with Louis and his family.

He gets home eventually, opening to the door to a cold, empty house without a trace of the three boys whom he had left here. He sighs tiredly, sad and a little lonely as he turns on the heat and the television. He texts Niall and Liam that he's home safely, and that they can come over tomorrow because he wants some rest and alone time.  

He feels much lighter than when he left, and it’s almost laughable how much Harry didn’t know when he went searching for Louis. If anything, the trip brought Harry closer to Louis and brought him much needed closure about where him and Louis stand. All in all, it was the best decision he's ever made.

He’s also happy he was able to tell Louis about his past and what fucks him up the most, and he got the best reaction. He felt taken care of by Louis Tomlinson, who would’ve thought?

He sinks in to his couch, watching some mindless gossip shows and laughing when he sees photos of him and girls he's supposedly dating. The media knows he’s been MIA, and there’s even news about his Twitlonger and his anger towards society’s standards. He’s been labeled a role model to many young fans and his heart grows heavy with pride. He’s made a small difference, but he's done something at least.

Besides the obvious absence of a bouncy, pixie-haired, blue-eyed boy that should be next to him, Harry feels good for once, his life is okay and his love is okay.

Everything would be okay, right?


End file.
